#patch x nora

[descenderintofantasy]

Nowdays it feels like a couple has to go through a WAR together, to stay loyal/make it...

[lexxwithbooks]

📖: 𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒐 (𝐻𝑢𝑠ℎ 𝐻𝑢𝑠ℎ #2) 🖤🪽🏍️

✍🏽: 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐳𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤

[incorrect-hushhush-quotes]

Patch: I promise to always be by your side. Nora: Patch, I- Patch: Or under you. Nora: … Patch: Or on top.

[kiwi-endure]

Swann... Lost Records: Bloom and Rage Tape 2 Rage Don't Nod Entertainment

[cl0udy3]

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

ellie williams x dina's sister!reader fluff, some angst occasionally i think, slow burn wc: 9616 a/n: first time writing something this long, i had a friend beta read but she didn't see the whole thing so it might need some work near the end but hope its okay for now :D (also this is the first part of the acts, i'll be working on the next one soon, a little busy with class) ✩ pt2 | pt3

She was new.

Not new-new–Ellie had been in Jackson for over a year by the time you really met her--but still new enough that people said her name with a little weight behind it. Joel's girl. The one who came in from the Fireflies. The one who survived.

You'd seen her around. Heard rumors. And honestly? You thought she looked like kind of a dick.

Always glaring. Always muttering. Always pulling her sleeves over her hands like she didn't want to touch the world.

You didn't plan on talking to her.

It just sort of... happened.

You were coming back from a short patrol loop near the creek, boots soaked and mood worse, and you passed by the stables where Ellie sat crouched behind one of the sheds. Knife in one hand. Dead rabbit in the other. Her sleeves were pushed to her elbows, red with blood. Her fingers weren't steady.

You almost kept walking. You probably should've kept walking.

But something about the way she kept slicing and reslicing the same patch of skin made you stop.

"You're gonna ruin the meat," you said.

She froze. Looked up. She had this wild, cornered-animal lookin er eye--like she'd been alone for a long time and didn't like being seen.

"What?"

You pointed. "You're cutting it wrong. Want me to show you?"

Ellie blinked at you like you'd just offered to skin her instead. Then, slowly, she held out the knife.

You stepped forward, knelt down next to her, and slid the blade down cleanly, quick and practiced. You didn't look at her, but you felt her watching.

"You always sneak up on people like that?" she muttered.

You smirked. "You always ruin perfectly good rabbits?"

And then she laughed. Just a huff. Barely there. But it cracked through something all the same.

You handed the knife back. "I'm Y/N."

She hesitated. "Ellie."

"Yeah, I know."

Of course you did. Everyone knew Ellie.

You didn't expect to see her again.

And then, a week later, you were assigned to patrol with her.

She was always with Joel. Or sketching on his front porch. Or slipping through the front gate with blood on her knuckles and a scowl that dared anyone to ask. You'd just seen her around enough to recognize the shape of her, the short temper, the thousand-yard stare she got when she thought no one was looking.

But you didn't speak much after the stables. Not until the morning you were both assigned to patrol.

The day was bleak, but a normal, snowy day in Jackson. 

Maria handed you your slip, eyes already moving to the next person in line. "West loop. You're with Ellie."

You hesitated.

Ellie didn't.

She glanced at you--brief, unreadable--and said, "Cool," like it didn't matter. Like you were just any other name on a page.

You followed her out to the stables in silence. She moved quick, didn't wait up, didn't look back to check if you were behind her. It didn't offend you. You weren't sure she was even capable of small talk.

You saddled your horse quietly. She did the same. Neither of you spoke until you were past the gates and the trees swallowed up the sky.

The snow was light that morning, soft enough to let the horses keep pace without slipping. You didn't say anything for the first twenty minutes. Figured she'd appreciate the quiet.

Then she said, suddenly, like she couldn't help herself. "So. You new, or just quiet?"

You blinked. "I've been here. Just not loud."

Ellie glanced over, eyebrow raised. "You on patrol before?"

"Yeah. Mostly with Tommy or Nora. Sometimes Jesse."

"Damn," she said. "They  really threw me a wild card."

You snorted. "You're not exactly subtle either, y'know."

She didn't answer, but you caught the smirk pulling at her mouth before she turned her head. The first thread of something loosening between you.

The next time either of you spoke, it was after spotting a limping fox slipping between the trees.

"Front left leg," you whispered, pointing. "Injured. Look how it leans."

Ellie followed your gesture. "You got good eyes."

You shrugged. "I get bored easy."

"Bored enough to track limping foxes?"

You glanced at her. "Better than staring at your back the whole ride."

Her laugh was quick and surprised. "Okay. You're kind of funny."

"Only kind of?"

"Don't get cocky."

You didn't say it, but your chest felt warmer all of a sudden. Like something was working its way open. Like maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Later, when you stopped to check a half collapsed shed for signs of infested, she waved you back with one hand and went in first. Cleared the corners like she'd done it a thousand times. You stepped in after, the air inside stale and cold, and sat on a crate while she double-checked the trapdoor.

"Clear," she said, and plopped down beside you, close enough for your knee to knock. 

Neither of you moved to fix it.

You pulled a half-crushed protein bar from your coat and offered her half. She look at it like it might explode. "That thing's probably older than I am."

"It's either this or whatever weird jerky Maria gave me this morning."

Ellie took it. Ate it. Looked like she regretted every bite.

"You're right," she said. "That was awful."

You smiled. "And yet you still ate it."

"I'm not wasteful."

"Mm. Brave."

She laughed again, this time quieter. The sound stayed with you.

After a while, the cold started to settle in deeper, and neither of you said anything. You just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, breath visible in the air between you.

She looked down at your hands, then her own. "You always this calm out here?"

You shrugged. "I like quiet."

She tilted her head. "That's rare."

You glanced over. "You don't?"

"I do," she said, after a beat. "I just never get to have it with anyone else."

Something tightened in your throat, but you didn't let it show. Just nodded.

"Get we're both a little rare, then."

She looked at you a second too long. Then stood. "C'mon. Still got two markers to check."

The rest of the ride back, the silence felt different. Like a thread had been tugged, something delicate but present, stretching between you with every word you didn't say.

When you got to the gate, she slowed her horse beside yours and said, "You did alright."

You raised a brow. "High praise."

"I mean it."

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, "You're not bad yourself."

She nodded. Looked like she wanted to say something else. Didn't.

As you left your horse in the stables again, you watched her walk away, hands in her pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind.

You didn't know what any of it meant. 

But you knew you wanted to ride with her again.

And thanks to some miracle, it wasn't the last time they paired you.

You weren't sure who requested it--if anyone did--but it kept happening. Quiet little loops on the outskirts. Traps. Check-ins. One infected, two at the most. Not much conversation at first, just her voice cutting through the silence when it mattered. "Right side." "Stay back." "You okay?"

Eventually, the silences weren't so sharp. They softened. Turned into something like... habit.

A week passed. Then two.

A third patrol ended later than planned. Snow came down heavy, faster than expected, and by the time you made it back, the sky was nearly black and your hands were numb through your gloves. You didn't go straight home. Neither did she.

Ellie sat with you on the back steps of the weapon shed, both of you still half-geared up. Her knife lay across her lap. You were eating something cold and miserable from your pocket, she was chewing a toothpick she'd found god-knows-where.

"You ever think about leaving?" you asked, after a long stretch of nothing.

She didn't look at you.

"Like... just walking past the perimeter. Seeing what's out there."

Another beat.

"Yeah," she said eventually. "All the time."

You nodded. "But you stay."

She shrugged. "Don't know if I'm supposed to."

"What do you mean?"

Ellie finally looked at you then, eyes darker than usual in the low light. There was something strange in her face. Not sad, not angry. Just tired. Hollow in a way you hadn't noticed before. 

"Sometimes I think I should've died a long time ago."

The words landed like a gut punch. Not dramatic. Not loud. Just matter-of-fact. Like she'd said it before. Like she believed it.

You didn't know what to say.

She was still looking at you, watching for something--maybe judgement, maybe fear--but you just sat there with her. Let the silence stretch.

"Why?" you asked, careful.

She pulled the toothpick from her mouth, rolled it between her fingers.

"Just feels like... I keep walking away from shit other people don't get to."

You swallowed, throat dry. "Maybe that's not a bad thing."

Ellie didn't answer. Just turned her head toward the dark tree line, like she could see past it. Past Jackson. Past all of it.

"Survivor's guilt," you said, quieter. "That's what they call it."

She laughed, but it was a small sound. "That's a dumb name."

"Most things are."

You nudged her knee with yours. She didn't pull away.

After a while, she asked, "Do you ever feel like that?"

You looked down at your hands.

"Not in the same way," you admitted. "But... yeah. Sometimes."

She nodded. Didn't press.

You sat there until the cold soaked through your coats and your bones started to ache. She stood first, offered you a hand, pulled you up without a word.

That night, when you got home, your fingers still tingled where they'd brushed hers.

***

After another quiet patrol, you followed each other to the kitchen for dinner. You don't ask her to sit with you. But she does.

Slides her tray across from yours in the cafeteria and grumbles about the soup like she's always been there. You both eat in silence, your knees occasionally brushing under the table neither of you pulling away.

When you stand to leave, she follows. Doesn't ask. Doesn't even glance up--just tugs her jacket on like it's a habit.

Outside, the sky's streaked with purples and gold, bleeding into the snowy mountains. The air smells like wet bark, like winter giving up.

Ellie kicks a half frozen pile of slush. It splashes your boot.

You side-eye her.

"Oops," she says.

You continue to walk in silence after that, boots squelching in the softening snow. She keeps her hands buried in her pockets, head tilted like she's listening to something you can't hear.

At one point, her shoulder bumps yours--not hard, just enough to make you look. She doesn't apologize. You don't say anything.

The silence is weightless. Safe.

Right before the path splits, she slows.

"Tomorrow?" she asks, voice low.

You nod, almost without thinking. "Tomorrow."

She turns towards Joel's place. You watch her walk for a few steps, like maybe you forgot to say something.

But there's time.

You tell yourself there's always time.

That night, you set your alarm earlier than usual.

You don't know why. You just want to see what her face looks like when she tastes the worst coffee ever made.

The next morning, you find her barely conscious, slouching against the mess hall wall like she spent all night fighting off a bear. Her hoodie's half-on, eyes half-open.

You hand her the mug wordlessly. She takes it like a reflex. 

"What is this?" she croaks.

"Liquid motivation."

She sips. And then freezes. Then winces. "You trying to kill me?"

"It's artisanal," you say, straight-faced. "Crafted with love and desperation."

She glares at you like you've insulted her ancestors. "This tastes like betrayal."

You raise an eyebrow. "Drink it or go back to bed."

She sighs, dramatic as hell, but drinks it. Grimaces the entire time. When the mug's empty, she slams it on the table like it's personally wronged her.

"I'm telling Maria."

"You're welcome."

She rolls her eyes. But when she walks off, she mutters over her shoulder, "Next time I expect a real gift."

You don't forget that.

Two days later, she finds you behind the library, elbows deep in stubborn, frostbitten roots. You're trying to make something out of frozen soil and leftover hope. It isn't going well.

She crouches beside you, not saying anything first.

"Gardening now?" she says eventually.

"You glance at her. "Killing time."

She digs into her pocket and pulls out something small and purple, wilted but not dead. She brushes it off gently and holds it up to you like an offering.

"It reminded me of you."

You blink. "Because I'm beautiful and radiant?"

She gives you a look. "Because you're stubborn. And you grow in places you shouldn't."

You snort. "Wow. Romantic."

She shrugs like she's done her part and stands.

You watch her goes, flower still in your gloved hand, heart thudding for reasons you don't name. 

That night, you press it in your notebook. The petals stain the page.

After that, she starts showing up more.

You try to write it off at first. Jackson's not that big. People cross paths.

But then she's on your patrol shifts. Leaning against fences during training. Sitting in the market like she's waiting for someone--and she always leaves when you do.

One afternoon, you catch her watching you spar with Jesse. She doesn't blink when you spot her. Doesn't look away.

You wipe sweat off your forehead and walk past her without a word. She falls into step beside you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You following me?" you ask, half-teasing.

She shrugs. "You're just everywhere."

You don't say anything. Neither does she. But later, when she isn't around, you notice.

It's a week later, late afternoon, when you find Ellie again. 

She's sitting with her back against the barn wall, sketchbook in her lap, pencil smudged against her fingers. Her brows are furrowed, jaw slack, totally focused. The sun hits the side of her face in patches through the warped wooden slats, making her hair look redder than usual, like something burning low and slow.

You don't say anything at first. You just watch her.

Then she notices you.

"What," she mutters, barely looking up, "do I have something on my face?"

"No," you say, smirking. "Just surprised to see you doing something that looks... meditative."

She sticks her tongue out at you and goes back to her sketch. "I meditate all the time."

"Bullshit."

Ellie shrugs. "Fine. But drawing is kind of like meditating. Except when it pisses me off."

You inch closer and tilt your head to peek over her shoulder. "What is it?"

She hesitates for half a second before letting you look.

It's... a tree. Something about is it ethereal. She had somehow managed to capture the essence of the real thing in her drawing. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but it was somehow her.

You stare at it for a long moment. "It's beautiful."

She stiffens. Just slightly. Then shrugs again, like the compliment doesn't mean anything, even though it does.

"Thanks," she says. "You do anything like this?"

You blink. "Like drawing?"

"Yeah. Art. Hobbies. Fun shit."

You pause. "I garden sometimes."

Ellie turns to look at you. "That's it? Gardening?"

"I like it."

"Yeah, so do old people."

You glare. "Thanks."

"I mean, come on. You're telling me you've got nothing else in there?" She gestures vaguely to your head. "No secret skill? No tragic backstory? No like... knife-throwing championship title?"

You hesitate. Then sigh.

"I write."

She perks up. "Like what?"

"Just... stuff."

"Stuff?"

You give her a look. "Poetry."

There's a pause. Not a long one. But just long enough for you to regret saying it.

Then Ellie raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah, okay. Laugh."

"I'm not laughing," she says. And she isn't. She's smirking a little, but it's more... curious than mocking. "That's actually kind of cool."

"It's stupid."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Feels personal. And I haven't written anything good in a long time."

Ellie leans back, the corner of her mouth twitching. "You got any of it still?"

You shake your head. "No."

She raises both brows now. "No?"

"I mean... yes. But I'm not showing you."

"Why not?"

"Because you'd make fun of me."

"I just said I wouldn't."

"You lie."

She grins. "Constantly. But not about this."

You look at her then. Really look. She's sitting there, sun in her hair, dirt on her knees, pencil still tucked between her fingers--and she's listening. Not just asking. Not just humoring you.

You're not used to that.

"I don't know," you say finally. "It's dumb."

Ellie opens her mouth like she's going to argue--but doesn't. She just shrugs and flicks her pencil against the paper a few times.

"Whatever. I'm still gonna bully you about it later."

"I'd expect nothing less."

You stay there a while long, talking about nothing, the kind of nothing that fills your chest like it's everything. And when the light starts to dim and your stomach growls and she makes some shitty joke about eating tree bark if the cafeteria runs out of food again, you walk with her. Shoulder to shoulder. Quiet.

That night, you stare at a blank page for twenty minutes before writing a single word. 

And once you start, you can't stop.

You write about the way Ellie walks--fast like she's got somewhere to be, slow when she's next to you. You write about the way she talks, like every word is a dare, like silence is something she hasn't figure out how to live with yet. You write about the way her laugh hits you in the gut, sharp and sudden and rare.

And then, quieter--you write:

I have never wanted to be a place until I met you Now I want to be the ground you rest your boots on.  The window you stare out of. The air that makes you stay.

It's not perfect, or polished, or even good. But it's true.

The next morning, you fold the page three times and slip it into your jacket pocket. Find her near the greenhouse where she always ends up when she thinks no one's watching. She's sitting cross-legged in the dirt, a pencil tucket behind one ear, her sleeves rolled up like spring isn't still pretending to be winter.

You hand her the folded paper without a word.

She doesn't ask what it is. Just unfolds it slowly, her eyes scanning each line, mouth moving just slightly. Reading it out loud in her head.

She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Then she folds it again--smaller this time--and tucks it into her jacket pocket, right over her chest.

"You should write more," she says. 

And you do. 

Because now you have a reason.

***

The next day, she’s gone.

Not in a dramatic way—no patrol assignment, no emergency, no blood trail leading into the trees. Just… gone. No Ellie at breakfast. No Ellie in the usual hallway corner with her boots half-laced and a sarcastic comment on her tongue. Not even a glimpse of her jacket disappearing around a corner.

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

She probably overslept. Or went out early. Or just needed space, like she sometimes does—quiet days where she holes up with her sketchbook or disappears into the woods with a bow and a scowl.

But still.

You feel it.

You feel it in the way your steps fall too loud on the gravel.

In the way your breakfast feels longer.

In the way you start listening for a voice that doesn’t come.

You keep catching yourself turning, expecting to find her slouched against a doorway or perched on a fence like a cat, arms crossed, that smug glint in her eye. And every time you don’t see her, something unsettles a little deeper in your ribs.

It’s not until late—near sundown, the sky fading soft orange and bruised lavender—that you notice the shape in your coat pocket. Something light. Hard. Small.

You stop walking.

Reach in.

It’s a cassette tape.

Old. Beat up. The label on the front half-peeled, the ink faded like it’s been thumbed over a dozen times. Someone’s handwriting still clings to it—smudged and slightly tilted.

The Cranberries – Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can’t We?

No note.

No explanation.

Just the music.

You turn it over in your hand, wondering when she even could’ve slipped it in there. Maybe the night before. Maybe at dinner. Maybe while you were talking about something else, your hands too close together on the table, your eyes everywhere but on her.

You don’t even remember telling her you liked The Cranberries.

Maybe you didn’t.

Maybe she just knew.

You ask around quietly until you can borrow an old Walkman from Joel—told him you needed to check on some inventory tapes. He looked skeptical but didn’t press. Just handed it over with a grunt and a warning to rewind it when you’re done.

And then you go. Not far—just behind the greenhouse, where the sun spills in crooked beams through the broken glass and the air smells like mint and tomato vines and damp earth. No one really goes there unless it’s planting season.

It’s quiet.

You sit in the dirt.

You press play.

The first track starts—slow, a little dreamy, a little sad in that way that doesn’t ask for pity. Just wants to be felt.

Your chest aches before the chorus even hits.

By the second song, you’re not blinking as much as you should be.

The third track plays like it knows your name. Like someone cracked your ribs open just enough to slide it in there, leave it humming behind your heart.

It’s dumb. You know that.

It’s just a tape.

Just music.

But this—this is the closest thing to a love letter either of you have ever given. Or maybe received.

And just as the next song clicks in, you hear it:

Boots in the dirt.

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t turn around.

You don’t breathe.

The steps stop behind you.

Then—quietly—Ellie sits down beside you, close enough that the edges of your sleeves catch when the wind shifts. She doesn’t say anything.

You don’t either. Not right away.

The music keeps playing. The Walkman hums gently in your lap. You can feel her, there beside you, like static in your bones.

“This is a weird way to flirt,” you murmur, still staring ahead.

Ellie scoffs under her breath. “I’m not flirting.”

You glance sideways, trying not to smile. “You gave me sad girl music.”

“You said you liked sad girls with guitars.”

A pause.

You’re not sure why you say it, only that it tumbles out before you can stop it.

“I like you.”

It’s not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest.

Ellie blinks. The faintest hitch in her breath. Then she looks away, out toward the greenhouse, lips pressed together like she’s trying not to bite them.

It happens maybe a week later.

You’d just finished helping unload some supplies, arms aching and smelling like old wood and diesel. She found you near the mess hall, hair frizzed from the wind, dirt smudged across her cheek.

“Wanna ditch?” she said, half a smirk on her face, like she already knew your answer.

So you did. Followed her across the back fences, up the rusted fire escape of the old building by the east wall—one of the quietest spots in Jackson. No guards. No foot traffic. Just peeling brick and a half-collapsed roof where the stars come out clearer than anywhere else.

The climb up to the roof wasn’t exactly safe—half-rotted boards, rusted metal rungs, one narrow ledge that made your stomach drop when you looked down. But Ellie had done it before, and when she offered her hand without saying a word, you took it without thinking.

The air up there was colder, sharper. Windy. You pulled your coat tighter and tucked your chin down as you stepped out onto the flat part of the roof, your boots scuffing against gravel and ash. She’d already set up the usual spot—a half-dead blanket she kept hidden in a dry metal box, two dented mugs for whatever sad drink she’d brought, and a lighter with a chipped Firefly logo on the side.

She was sitting with her back to the roof’s edge, legs out in front of her, a blunt already half-rolled between her fingers.

“You ever fall off this thing?” you asked, settling beside her.

She smirked without looking at you. “Once. Broke my ass. Joel was pissed.”

You smiled at that, your gaze trailing out over Jackson. It looked different from up here. Softer. The flickering porch lights. The warm yellow glow from the rec hall windows. Someone had a fire going—you could smell it, faint but smoky, riding the breeze. It made the whole town feel small. Far away.

Ellie sparked the lighter, cupped it in her palm, and lit the blunt like she’d done it a thousand times. Which, honestly, she probably had. She took a slow hit, the ember flaring, her eyes squinting slightly as she exhaled. Then she held it out to you.

You froze.

“C’mon,” she said, brow raised. “Don’t make me smoke the whole thing.”

You looked at it like it might bite you.

“I’ve never—”

“That’s the point,” she said, soft. “First time’s with me.”

Your fingers brushed hers as you took it. You tried not to make a big deal out of it. Tried not to seem like you cared. But your pulse was in your throat.

You took a hit, choked almost instantly, and doubled over coughing.

Ellie just laughed. Loud and mean in that affectionate way she had. “Jesus. You’re such a baby.”

You glared at her between coughs, but your eyes were watering too much to make it effective. “This sucks.”

“No, you suck. Give it back.”

You passed it to her and wiped your mouth with your sleeve, feeling your heartbeat skip a little too fast. After a minute or two, though, the edge of it dulled. Warmth crept up your chest. Your limbs got heavy in a nice way. The town lights started to blur a little.

“Okay,” you murmured, leaning back on your palms. “Maybe not that bad.”

Ellie grinned and took another hit. “Told you.”

Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... weightless. Safe.

Your legs dangled off the edge of the roof. Hers did too.

The stars were out—more than usual. Jackson’s lights didn’t reach this far, so the sky looked bigger. Like you could fall into it. Like it might fall into you.

“You ever think about leaving?” she asked suddenly, voice low, rough from smoke and cold and maybe something heavier.

You didn’t answer right away. Just watched your breath curl in front of you.

“Sometimes,” you said. “Not for good. Just... for a while.”

Ellie was quiet for a second. Then:

“Where would you go?”

You shrugged. “Nowhere. Everywhere. Maybe west.”

“West,” she repeated. Not mocking. Just thoughtful.

Then she said it.

“Take me with you.”

You turned to look at her.

But she wasn’t looking at you. She was staring up at the sky again, her profile sharp against the starlight, eyes reflecting nothing.

“I would,” you said.

Too soft. Too fast. It slipped out like it had been waiting at the back of your throat forever.

And she must’ve heard it. Really heard it. Because after a second, she looked over.

And something flickered behind her eyes.

Like maybe she knew.

Like maybe she was about to lean in, just slightly, just enough. Like she felt it too.

But then she blinked.

And whatever was there—it was gone.

She passed the blunt back without a word, eyes already turned away.

You didn’t say anything else.

Just smoked in silence, and told yourself the chill on your skin was from the wind.

Another week passes. 

It’s late when she shows up.

You’re already in pajamas, curled on your bed with a half-read book and the radio whispering something low and folky. Rain taps at the windows, steady as a metronome. Everything smells like wet earth and lavender—you forgot to blow out the candle on your shelf.

There’s a knock.

Soft. Hesitant.

You open the door and she’s standing there, hoodie damp from the walk over, hair pulled back messily, eyes flicking past you like maybe she’s reconsidering.

“You busy?” she asks.

You shake your head. “Nah. Just reading.”

She steps inside.

Drops her boots by the door, shrugs off her hoodie, walks up the stairs to your bedroom and settles herself by the headboard of your bed. Like this is her space too. Her sketchbook is under one arm.

You toss her a blanket. She catches it without looking.

The room is quiet except for the rain and the occasional flip of a page—your book, her sketchpad. You don’t ask what she’s drawing. You’ve stopped asking.

Eventually, you shift. Lay your book on your chest and close your eyes, just for a second.

Just to rest.

You don’t mean to fall asleep.

But you do.

The blankets are warm. The candle burns low. And Ellie is close enough to hear breathing. So you drift.

You’re not sure how long you’re out—twenty minutes? an hour?—but when you stir, it’s still raining. The candle’s gone out. And she’s still sitting there.

Cross-legged on your floor. Sketchbook in her lap. Eyes flicking between the paper and—

You.

You blink. Groggy. Voice scratchy. “Are you… drawing me?”

She looks up.

Doesn’t deny it. Just chews the inside of her cheek, then shrugs. “You make a good subject.”

You roll onto your side, burying your face half into the pillow. “You’re a creep.”

She grins. “You like it.”

You do. God, you do.

You don’t say anything, but your cheeks burn, and that’s answer enough.

She doesn’t leave that night.

She stays until the candle smoke fades and the rain stops and your breath evens out again.

And you don’t even realize she slipped something into your coat pocket until a week later—when you're on patrol, digging for gloves in the early cold.

Your fingers brush paper.

You pull it out.

It’s the sketch.

Charcoal and pencil on torn notebook paper—creased from folding, smudged at the corners. But it’s you. Not just how you look, but how you were. Curled up, soft and half-asleep. Mouth parted. Hands tucked under your chin like you were dreaming of something sweet. Like you weren’t carrying so much.

She made you look kind. Gentle.

Loved.

You stare at it for a long time.

And then fold it back up, press it against your chest like a secret.

Because that’s what it is.

She never mentioned it. Never asked if you saw it.

But sometimes, when you pass her in the mess hall or catch her sharpening her knife outside the barracks, she’ll look at you a little too long.

Like she’s still drawing you.

Like you’re still the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

She comes by your house again.

It’s late.

Later than either of you meant to stay up. The kind of late where the silence starts to hum. Where the lamps buzz faintly and the edges of everything feel a little blurred.

You’re both on your bed, backs against the wall, legs stretched out, a bowl of stale popcorn between you. Some shitty cassette tape hums low in the background—something folksy and quiet Ellie brought over weeks ago that never made its way back to her place.

You’ve been talking for hours.

Not about anything important. Just… stuff.

“Okay,” she says, voice thick with sleep. “Worst food you ever ate. Go.”

You snort. “The canned tuna Joel tried to make tacos with. That shit was criminal.”

Ellie hums, almost a laugh. Her head tips back against the wall.

You keep going.

“Or—wait—no, the beans at the winter festival last year. They tasted like dirt and broken dreams.”

That makes her grin, but it’s a slow one. Fading around the edges. Her eyes are half-lidded, lashes low. You can see how heavy her body’s getting, the way her shoulders slump just a little more every few minutes. The way her head sways when she laughs too long.

She’s tired. You know she’s tired.

But she doesn’t move to leave.

So you just… keep talking.

Low and rambling now. About dumb things. The book you found in the library about edible weeds. The guy in the stables who swears by talking to horses like they’re people. That time Jesse slipped on ice and pretended he meant to break his ankle because it got him out of patrol.

You feel her shift beside you.

Then a weight.

Slow and soft—her head, slipping down from the wall, finding your shoulder like gravity pulled her there.

You stop mid-sentence.

And don’t move.

Her breath is warm against your collarbone. Steady. Even.

She’s out.

Fully asleep.

You freeze—your whole body electric with stillness, afraid to even breathe. Her weight settles into you, solid and real, like something fragile you’re terrified to disturb. One of her hands brushes your leg, curled loosely like she meant to hold onto something and missed.

And god, you want to kiss her.

Right there, in the quiet. While the music hums and her fingers twitch slightly and she looks so impossibly soft and yours that it hurts.

But you don’t.

You just shift a little, careful, and lean your head against hers. Let your eyes close. Let yourself have this.

Just for now.

You wake up an hour later.

The tape’s stopped.

The popcorn’s cold.

She’s still there.

And she doesn’t move when you reach for the blanket and pull it over both of you.

Just sighs in her sleep.

Like she’s safe here.

Like you are, too.

The hangouts continue—quiet, unspoken, intimate in a way neither of you dares to name.

Two weeks pass.

Normally, you’d be paired with Ellie on patrol. You always were. But the day before, Maria handed out the assignments, and your name landed next to Jesse’s.

You frowned but didn’t argue.

Now, it’s still dark when you show up at the gates. Cold, too—your breath curls in the air like smoke. Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you shift your weight, rubbing your hands together to keep them warm. The town sleeps behind you, quiet and still, the sun not yet bleeding into the sky.

You go through the usual routine. Check your pack—rifle, water, rations, bandages.

Then your fingers close around something unexpected.

A switchblade.

Not yours.

Yours is back home—half-dull and chipped from too many close calls. But this one?

This one’s clean. Balanced. The blade shines faint in the pre-dawn light. The handle’s worn just enough to feel like it belonged to someone else first.

You turn it over.

There, on the hilt, a tiny scratch.

You’ve seen it before.

Ellie’s.

Something twists in your chest.

You glance up—and she’s there. Leaning against the fencepost a few feet away, hoodie half-zipped, hands in her pockets. Watching you.

She nods toward the knife. “Just in case I’m not there to save your ass.”

You try to play it cool, try not to let the heat crawl up your neck. “You worried about me?”

She shrugs. “I don’t like it when people die stupid.”

You grin. Quiet. “I’ll treasure that.”

She pushes off the post and walks past you like it’s nothing. Like she didn’t just give you something you’ll probably sleep next to for the rest of the week.

You tuck the blade into your belt and try not to feel too much.

Jesse shows up a minute later, mid-yawn, chewing on half a protein bar. He clocks the switchblade, then glances at Ellie’s retreating back.

“Well,” he says, smirking. “That wasn’t subtle.”

You blink. “What?”

He nods at the knife. “She give you that?”

“…Maybe.”

Jesse lifts his brows like he already knows the answer. “That’s, like… romantic. In Elliespeak.”

You roll your eyes, though your pulse is still a little too loud. “Shut up.”

He falls in step beside you as you start toward the trail. “I’m just saying. The girl’s stitched you up, lent you her tapes, sketched you—”

“She didn’t sketch me.”

“She did.”

“She just said I was a good subject.”

“She said it with the dumbest look on her face. You’ve got her wrapped around your knife-gifted little finger.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that.”

Jesse kicks a rock off the path. “Sure. But do you wish it was?”

You don’t answer.

Not because you don’t know.

But because you do.

The day stretches long.

You and Jesse move along the outer edge of Jackson, horses in hand, checking the usual spots. Routine stuff. Peaceful, at first. Too peaceful. The kind of stillness that sets your teeth on edge if you think about it too long.

You make small talk—nothing important. It’s easy with Jesse. It always has been. Comfortable in the way old friendships are.

Just past noon, you make it to the north trail.

The air is crisp, sweet with pine. Hooves clop steadily over damp earth. No broken branches, no overturned tracks. You like patrols like this. Quiet. Familiar. Almost enough to forget what the world’s become.

“Y’know,” Jesse says, breaking the lull, “I was sure Tommy was gonna stick me with the new guy. I’ve got a streak going.”

You smirk. “Guess your luck’s finally turning around.”

“Or maybe he just didn’t want you scaring another recruit off.”

You kick a clump of snow toward him. “I’m delightful.”

“You’re something.”

The rhythm’s easy. The kind that only comes from years of knowing someone. Jesse’s always had a way of grounding you—pulling you back to yourself. Maybe because he never pushes too hard. Maybe because he doesn’t have to.

The trail narrows, and you both dismount. The horses plod behind as you lead them into a hollow—low, sloping, shadows spilling between snow-patched trees. Brown earth peeks through the frost like spring’s trying to fight its way in.

You adjust your pack and walk beside Jesse in silence until he slings his rifle over his shoulder and speaks.

“So,” he says casually. “You and Ellie. That’s… new.”

You don’t meet his eyes. “There’s no ‘me and Ellie.’”

“Right,” he says, dragging the word out. “You’re just attached at the hip for fun. Totally platonic.”

You roll your eyes. “We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh. And I herd horses because I enjoy the smell.”

You kick a rock off the trail. “What are you getting at?”

Jesse shrugs. “Nothing. Just—you’ve been through a lot. And you seem… lighter, lately. Like something’s finally clicking back into place.”

You don’t respond at first. Just watch the sunlight breaking in fractured beams through the trees.

“It’s not like that,” you say eventually. “She just… gets it. That’s all.”

He gives you a long look, like he’s reading a sentence you didn’t mean to write out loud. “Well. Whatever it is—just don’t screw it up.”

You let out a snort. “Is that the official Jackson policy?”

“That’s the friend policy,” he says, bumping your arm with his elbow. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m being emotionally available.”

“Emotionally available with side-eyes and judgment.”

“It’s a package deal.”

You’re just about to laugh—really laugh—when the sound cuts through the air.

Not sharp. Not loud. Just wrong.

You both freeze.

Then it comes again.

Wet. Guttural. Clicking.

Your hand flies to your belt. Ellie’s switchblade presses into your palm—cold, familiar. Jesse’s already raised his rifle, eyes scanning the trees.

“Shit,” he mutters. “How the hell did one get this close?”

You don’t get the chance to answer.

It crashes from the tree line—snarling, fast, all teeth and rot and bone.

Jesse fires. The shot hits—but the infected doesn’t stop.

Your body moves before your brain catches up. You shove Jesse aside, bring the blade up—

Too late.

It catches your side with a swipe of its claws—white-hot pain ripping through your ribs. You stagger, gasping.

But you’re still standing.

Jesse gets a second shot off.

The clicker drops.

You drop with it.

Your knees hit the ground. Then your side. Blood seeps through your coat, warm and terrifying. You press your hands to the wound, instinctive, useless.

“Fuck,” Jesse breathes, already at your side. “Hey. Hey—look at me. We’ve got this. You’re okay.”

You nod. Try to. The world’s blurring at the edges.

Your horse is still there. So is Jesse’s.

Somehow, he gets you into the saddle. Somehow, you stay upright.

The ride back is a blur—half-shadow, half-pain.

You don’t remember much. Just the thudding of hooves beneath you, the steady burn in your ribs, the way Jesse’s hand stays braced on your back like it could hold you together. You focus on the rhythm of it. One-two. One-two. Like if you keep count, you won’t pass out.

But the world starts pulling sideways anyway. Everything going soft at the edges.

Until it doesn’t.

Until you hear Jesse shouting.

And you lift your head, just barely, and see the gates of Jackson coming into view.

And her.

Ellie.

She’s leaning against the fencepost just beyond the stables, a little crumpled daisy held between her fingers like some stupid inside joke. Her hoodie’s half-zipped, hair tucked behind one ear, eyes scanning the trail like she’s waiting for something—waiting for you.

You see it hit her in real-time.

She straightens. The flower falls. And then she’s running.

“Move!” she yells, shoving past the people near the gates, boots skidding on gravel. “Move—fuck—what happened?”

You’re not even off the horse before her hands are on you.

“She’s losing blood,” Jesse says breathlessly, dismounting fast. “Clicker got her. Not a bite—just a gash, but it’s deep.”

Ellie doesn’t say anything. She just loops your arm over her shoulder and pulls you down from the saddle like you weigh nothing, like panic makes her stronger.

Your knees give. Her grip tightens.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

You try to speak. Maybe say her name. Maybe say sorry. All that comes out is a breath.

Then she’s moving—hauling you through the gates with people scattering out of her way. The infirmary’s not far, but it feels like another lifetime before she’s through the door, barking orders like she owns the place.

“I need a table! Gauze, sutures—now.”

Someone moves to help. She snaps without looking, “Don’t touch her. I’ve got it.”

Jesse’s still behind her, shadowing every step. His face is pale. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Ellie lays you on the table with terrifying gentleness. She’s breathing hard, eyes flicking between your face and your ribs. Her hands hover over your coat before she finally tears it open.

Blood’s already soaked through your shirt.

“Shit,” she breathes. Her voice cracks. “Okay. Okay.”

You want to tell her it’s not that bad, but your body’s gone heavy, useless. Your head lolls to the side, vision doubling. All you can really do is feel the way her hands work—pulling off your shirt, swabbing the wound, pressing down with shaking fingers.

“Ellie,” you rasp, barely above a whisper.

Her head snaps up. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

You try. Her face wavers, but you catch enough—her jaw clenched, jaw tight, eyes glassy with something she’s trying very hard not to let fall.

“I’m gonna fix it,” she says. “Okay? You’re not gonna die over some dumb clicker. Not like this.”

She moves fast. Efficient. Her hands shake, but the stitches are clean, tight. You feel every pull of the thread. It grounds you—just enough.

“Almost done,” she says, even though she’s not.

And then, quieter: “Don’t do this again. Please.”

You try to smile. It’s barely there. “You gave me the knife, remember?”

She laughs, breathless, more of a tremble than anything real. “Yeah. So you could not die with it.”

You feel her finishing the last stitch, the bandage going down over your ribs. She tapes it with shaking hands, presses her palm over it like she can will it to heal faster.

You reach out. Fingertips barely graze her wrist.

“Ellie.”

She looks at you.

And this time, she doesn’t hide it. The fear. The ache. All of it.

“I’m okay,” you whisper.

“No,” she says, voice low. “You’re not. But you’re gonna be.”

You try to nod. She leans closer instead—forehead almost brushing yours. Her fingers still wrapped around your wrist like she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go.

And she stays like that. Even when the others finally come in. Even when Jesse’s voice floats from the doorway. Even when everything else starts moving again.

She stays with you.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

One second, Ellie’s bent over you, hands stained with your blood, breath coming fast like she’s been holding it since the gates opened.

The next, it’s quiet.

Dim light filters through the infirmary window. Outside, Jackson murmurs with its usual distant hum—boots on wood, a horse whinnying, someone shouting about feed. Life going on.

But here, in this room, everything’s still.

You blink groggily. Your ribs throb with each breath, the sting of stitches tugging at your skin. Your mouth is dry. Head fuzzy.

Ellie’s in the chair beside your bed.

She’s pulled it close—knees almost touching the mattress. Her hoodie’s half-off one shoulder, sleeves pushed up, knuckles scabbed from where she must’ve scraped them carrying you in.

She’s asleep.

Or close to it.

One hand rests on her thigh, fingers curled like she forgot to relax them. The other is on the edge of the bed, just barely touching yours. Like she meant to hold your hand and changed her mind halfway through.

There’s a smear of your blood on her cheek.

She didn’t clean herself up. Didn’t change. Just sat down and… stayed.

You shift slightly, wincing at the sharp tug under your ribs.

Her eyes open instantly.

She straightens, alert in an instant. “Hey—hey, don’t move too much. You’re still fucked up.”

You try to smile. “Technical term?”

She doesn’t laugh. Just leans forward, elbows on her knees, eyes scanning your face like she’s checking for damage all over again.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Jesse got me back.”

Her jaw ticks. “I know. But I should’ve been there.”

“Ellie…”

“No, just—” she sits back, swipes a hand down her face. “I knew something felt off this morning. I fucking knew. And instead of saying something, I gave you a knife and walked away.”

You look down at your belt. The switchblade’s still there, tucked beside your hip.

“You kept it,” she says softly.

You nod. “Didn’t wanna lose it.”

Her expression falters—like maybe she wasn’t expecting that answer.

“Good,” she says after a moment. “It’s yours.”

Silence settles in again. Heavy, but not bad.

Then you whisper, “I thought I was gonna die out there.”

Ellie’s face crumples just slightly. “Don’t say that.”

“But I did. Just for a second.”

She swallows hard, then leans in again. This time she doesn’t stop herself—just reaches out and lets her hand rest over yours. The contact is warm. Solid. A tether.

“You didn’t, though,” she says. “You didn’t. You’re here. With me.”

You don’t say anything. Just turn your hand so your fingers lace with hers.

Her shoulders sag like she’s been holding up too much.

And for a little while, neither of you talk.

You just stay like that. Breathing together. One steady beat at a time.

***

You end up staying with Ellie and Joel.

Not because anyone says you should—but because the night after you’re stitched up, Joel just sort of… picks you up and carries you.

“No point in your tryin’ to do stairs,” he mutters, pretending not to notice the way you bite your lip against the pain. “You’ll be safer with us for a bit.”

Ellie barely lets you get through the door before she’d set up a space on the couch—blankets, pillows, water, one of Joel’s flannels she swears she’s not emotionally attached to but won’t let you give back either.

It’s quieter than you expect.

No big gestures. No fuss.

Just Ellie sitting beside you every night, sketchbook in hand, music playing low from the older speaker she scavenged with Joel forever ago. Sometimes she reads. Sometimes she doodles. Sometimes you talk about nothing at all.

Joel brings you food, and doesn’t say much, but he checks your bandages with a gentleness that makes you wonder how long it’s been since he let himself care like this again.

There’s a comfort in it. A kind of peace you didn’t realize you were missing.

And somewhere in the middle of all that—not loud, not sudden—Ellie starts staying.

She doesn’t go back to her room most nights. Just ends up half-asleep next to you, her feet tucked under your blanket, fingers brushing your arm as she nods off. She doesn’t talk about it. Doesn’t make it a thing. But you start brushing teeth together. You start sharing her hoodies. You start knowing which socks she steals from Joel and which mugs are her favorites.

Days pass like that. Easy. Close. Warmer.

They your birthday comes.

You don’t make a big deal out of it. You never do.

But when you come downstairs that morning, Ellie’s already waiting—leaning against the kitchen counter with something small in her hands.

“Morning, old lady,” she says, grinning. “Made you something.”

You blink. “You made something?”

“Okay, Joel helped. But I did, like most of the thinking part.”

She hands it over—it’s a little carved figure. A horse. A little lopsided, a little burnt on one side,  but clearly painstakingly made. Yours.

You don’t even know what to say. So you just hug her.

***

The kitchen smells like spice cake and melting wax. 

You lean against the counter, picking at the edge of the plate in front of you while Ellie wrestles with a crooked candle in the middle of the cake she somehow baked without setting the house on fire. There’s flour on her cheek and a smudge of chocolate near her thumb. She hasn’t noticed either.

“You’re gonna burn the house down with that thing.” you say, nudging a second matchbox toward her.

She shoots you a look. “I’m being careful.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“Same thing.”

You smile despite yourself watching her fuss over the tiny, flickering candle like it matters more than anything else in the world. It kind of does.

The party’s supposed to start soon—Jesse and Dina are bringing the drinks, Joel and Tommy said they’d stop by. You’re not sure how everyone managed to organize it without tipping you off, but Ellie’s never been good at hiding when she's planning something. Her nervous energy practically buzzes through the room.

“Hey,” so say after a beat, quieter now. “Can I tell you something?”

She looks up immediately, all that snark draining out of her expression like a switch flipped. “Yeah. Always.”

You shift, eyes on the candle. “I’ve just been thinking a lot. After… everything. With the attack. Getting patched up. Lying around Joel’s house like a lump for a week.”

“You weren’t a lump,” she mutters. 

“Kind of was.” You smile, but then it fades. “You didn’t have to take care of me like that. My sister could’ve stayed to help me. But you did. You and Joel. And I don’t know if I ever really said thank you.”

Ellie’s face softens. She shakes her head. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I think I do,” you say, voice catching a little. “Because it mattered. More than I know how to explain.”

There’s a pause. Ellie watches you like she’s afraid you might vanish if she blinks too hard.

You open your mouth. The rest is right there—on your tongue, ready to tumble out. I care about you. I think I’ve cared for a while. I feel safer when you’re around. Like I’m breathing easier.

You want to say something. You almost do.

The words get stuck behind your teeth, caught somewhere between the fear of saying too much and the fear of saying nothing at all.

Ellie turns back to the counter, and grabs the cake, fixing the candles like it matters.

“C’mon,” she says, voice softer now. “Everyone’s waiting.”

You follow her out of the kitchen, holding the screen door open for her as she walks out, cake in hand. 

“You sure you won’t trip on the way over?” you murmur as you walk down the steps of Joel’s porch.

Ellie huffs a sarcastic laugh and rolls her eyes. “I’ll manage.”

At your house, the lights are low, the music’s soft, and the air inside smells like smoke, cake, and someone's overly enthusiastic cologne (probably Jesse).

Jesse’s already halfway through a drink, deep in a dramatic retelling of some patrol disaster to Tommy and Joel, who are both pretending not to bed amused. A few of your other friends are clustered near the record player, arguing over what to play next.

You settle carefully onto the couch, back against the cushions with a sigh that’s half relief, half ache. The stitches still tug a little when you breathe too deep. Ellie’s only a few steps away, fussing with the drinks she brought out, her flicking to you now and then like she’s making sure you haven't collapsed when she wasn’t looking.

There’s a knock at the door.

You move like you’re going to stand, out of instinct more than anything—but the pull in your side flares sharp and immediate. You wince, halfway up. 

“Hey,” Ellie says, already stepping toward you. “Sit. I got it.”

You sink back down, grateful.

She crosses the room, pulling open the front door—and then pauses.

The girl on the other side of the door is bundled in a jacket and holding a lopsided little box, curls tucked messily into her beanie. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. She looks up—her smile blooms, crooked and immediate.

“Hey,” the girl says. “I’m looking for—uh, sorry. I’m Dina.” 

Ellie blinks. “...Oh.”

They look at each other for a second too long. 

Not awkward. Not confused. 

Just—still.

Like they’ve both just walked into something unexpected and kind of strange and kind of… good.

You hear her voice from where you’re sitting, and your heart lifts without thinking. 

You push up from the couch, ignoring the way your ribs bark in protest. 

“D?” 

Dina steps around Ellie just in time to catch you coming down the hall. Her face lights up.

“Shit—look at you,” she says, half-laughing, half-crying as she pulls you into a hug. “You dumbass.”

“I missed you too,” you murmur into her shoulder. She smells like cedar and rain.

You’re aware—just barely—of Ellie still by the door. 

She hasn’t moved. Still watching. Still quiet. 

Dina pulls back, brushing her knuckle under her eye with a laugh. “Sorry, I got held up. Patrol’s been hell. But I brought your favorite cake.”

You glance at the box, then at Ellie.

“This is Ellie,” you say.

Dina turns—and for the first time, really looks.

Ellie gives her a small, lopsided smile. “Hey.”

Dina matches it. “Hey.”

It's nothing, on the surface. Just a hello. Just a new face.

But there’s a flicker between them—quickly, subtle, almost unnoticeable if you weren’t standing right there. A glance that lingers just long enough to feel different. 

You feel it before you understand it. A change. 

Like something small just clicked into place.

You don’t know what it means yet, so for now, you pretend not to notice.

You’re curled on the couch now, Dina beside you, a blanket thrown over both your legs like old times. She’s half-talking, half-scolding—about how she would’ve never let you go out on patrol if she’d been around, how you're lucky she loves you too much to throttle you.

You grin through it. Let her fuss. Let her care.

“I swear,” she’s saying, hand on your arm, “you attract trouble like it's a job. Is that a Jackson patrol requirement now? ‘Must be proficient in chaos’?”

“First of all,” you say, nudging her lightly, “I’m very responsible. Mostly. Jesse was there too, y’know.”

“Yeah, and Jesse didn’t get ripped open, so.”

Behind you, Ellie makes a sound—almost a laugh, but sharper. You glance over your shoulder.

She’s leaning against the wall now, arms crossed, listening in.

“Pretty sure she got the knife after the rip,” Ellie says. “Not exactly her best moment.”

Dina grins. “So, you’re Ellie.”

Ellie raises a brow. “Me?”

“Well,” Dina says, “you’re the only person I’ve heard about more than twice in every letter.”

You feel your face heat. “Dina.”

“What? I’m just saying. Ellie this, Ellie that. Ellie drew me, Ellie saved my ass, Ellie made me soup—”

Ellie’s mouth twitches. “It was bad soup.”

Dina laughs, and it’s easy and bright. “I feel like I should be jealous.”

“Maybe you should be,” Ellie fires back, and it comes out fast, almost automatic.

There's a second of silence.

Then Dina laughs again, brushing it off. “Alright, soup queen. Duly noted.”

It’s a short exchange. Barely anything, really.

But something about it sticks with you. The way Dina’s posture shifts slightly toward Ellie, open and relaxed. The way Ellie—who usually hesitates with strangers—doesn’t, not this time.

You shake it off. You’re overthinking. It’s just your two favorite people finally meeting. It should feel good.

And it does.

Mostly.

this was so long but i needed to write it so bad AHH

[chaoticsolsworld]

Hi!

Could you do a story about Danny as Manny Alvarez and reader as a couple that wake up to someone trying to break into their home and they have to defend themselves?

“Stay Behind Me”|Manny Alvarez x Reader

Author’s Note: Manny Alvarez x fem!reader. Thank you for the requests! Was kinda having Writer’s Block.

CW: violence, blood, gunfire. Home Invasion. After Joel’s death.

Reblogs appreciated!

You’d been living in a second-floor apartment just outside WLF barracks. It wasn’t much…just brick walls, ration sheets taped to the fridge, and a broken balcony door that never quite locked but it was yours. Yours and Manny’s.

Being with someone in the WLF wasn’t easy. Missions could pull you apart for days. Nights could end with a knock and orders from Isaac. And trust….? it had to be earned every single day.

So when you heard the first knock, soft, rhythmic, calculated….your eyes snapped open.

Then came the twist of metal. Someone was testing the lock from the outside.

“Manny,” you whispered, nudging his shoulder.

He was already turning, groggy but alert. His hand slid instinctively to the pistol beneath the bedframe.

“You heard that?” you asked.

He nodded. “Three clicks. Like we do on recon.”

“WLF?”

He frowned. “If they wanted us out, they’d say it to our faces.”

A quiet pop came from the back, a silenced round. It missed, embedded somewhere in the wall. Manny was on his feet immediately, grabbing a shirt and motioning you behind the heavy armoire in the corner. It used to be your hideout during drills. Tonight, it was your only cover.

“Stay there. Don’t move unless I say.”

His tone didn’t leave room for argument.

You slid into the shadowed gap, breathing shallowly as the lock finally gave with a click.

Two figures entered.

They were masked, not Fireflies, but not official WLF either. Their gear was scavenged. One had a rifle. The other, a pistol and a knife. They moved like soldiers but not trained ones, more like ex-members or raiders.

Manny crouched near the hallway, using the dark to his advantage. He counted the steps. One heading toward the bedroom. One sweeping toward the kitchen.

When the first one passed the doorway, Manny pounced.

He grabbed the attacker by the neck, slammed him into the concrete wall hard enough to stun him, and twisted the pistol from his hand. It hit the floor and skidded toward the dresser where you were hiding.

You crawled fast, grabbed the weapon, flicked off the safety. Your hands were shaking but steady enough to cover Manny as the second attacker burst into the room.

“Drop it!” you shouted, gun raised.

The second man flinched but didn’t stop. He fired once, missing you by inches before Manny shot him clean in the thigh. He went down screaming, blood pooling fast.

The first attacker wasn’t so lucky. When he reached for his knife again, Manny didn’t hesitate.

One shot. Silence.

The screaming died down to ragged breathing.

You stepped into the light slowly, eyes wide. “They’re not Fireflies.”

“No,” Manny said, crouching beside the dying man. He yanked the patch off his vest. “They were WLF.”

Your stomach dropped.

“Why would one of our own—?”

Manny’s jaw clenched. “Ex-WLF. Probably pissed about what happened at the Forward Base. Or looking for leverage.” He glanced at you. “Or looking for me.”

He grabbed your coat and handed you your boots. “We have to go.”

“But where?”

“Anywhere but here. We’ll head toward the marina. Nora owes me a favor. And if this was a hit? We’re not safe in this sector anymore.”

You didn’t speak as you packed, just moved quickly, silently, knowing how this world worked. You zipped up the bag with your spare rations and ammo and looked back at the room. Your home. The coffee mug Manny always used. The crooked picture frame he never fixed. The spare blanket that smelled like him.

Gone now.

He took your hand at the door, fingers blood-warm and steady.

“We stay alive,” he said. “You and me. No matter what.”

You nodded, and the two of you vanished into the cold, damp dark of Seattle’s early morning, where trust was dangerous, and love was the only thing you could keep

[nomie-11]

Hiii!! I love your ficss, can you make a fic about Ellie and reader being enemies but they have to make a crime?

Partners in Crime

masterlist!

notes: sorry this literally took forever, my gf takes up all my time (she's the best)

pairing: ellie williams x reader (no use of y/n)

“Drop your gun,” her voice rang sharp through the rain, cutting through the hollow silence of the alleyway. Her silhouette was a blur at first—just a figure through the fog—until you saw the glint of her revolver aimed squarely at your chest. 

“Yours first,” you snapped, tightening your grip on your own weapon. Your voice cracked louder than you meant it to, but the threat in it was real. 

A tense pause, a breath passed. 

Your eyes met, really met. 

Freckles, sharp eyes, scarred forearm. You recognized her now—not by name, but by presence. She was that girl from Jackson, the one you had watched Nora press into the ground and force her to watch as Abby murdered her father. Cold, clinical violence. Rage wrapped in youth. Ellie. 

And she was standing between you and what might be your one shot at redemption—or vengeance. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. 

“I know who you are,” she said, voice low now. Not afraid. Not aggressive. Studying. 

You didn’t respond. You just stood there, breathing heavy, soaked through heart rattling inside your ribs like it wanted to claw out. 

“You ran with them,” she went on. “With the WLF. You helped them. You helped her.”

You bit back the first dozen things that came to mind. Defenses, excuses, regret. Instead, you said, “That was a long time ago.” 

Ellie’s grip tightened. “Not long enough.” 

You shifted slightly, enough to feel the cold of the concrete wall against your back, but not enough to drop your aim. The clicker’s distant screech echoed again, but neither of you moved. The real threat wasn’t out there—it was the woman standing five feet from you. 

“She’s not your kill,” Ellie said, and for a second her voice cracked with something that wasn’t just pure anger. 

“And she sure as hell isn’t yours,” you retorted, trying not to let your own bitterness show. But the name stuck in your throat like glass. 

“I’m  not here for you,” Ellie added, lowering her gun an inch. “But I’ll put you down if I have to.” 

You hesitated. Then took a slow step forward. “You think you’re the only one she screwed over?”

Another step. You could see her jaw twitch now. 

“She left me to die,” you said. “After everything I did for her. After everything I let myself do for her. I said one wrong thing and suddenly I was a liability.” 

Ellie watched you . You could tell she was weighing something. Maybe if you were telling the truth. Maybe if your story even mattered. Or maybe, if she was too tired to keep doing this alone. 

“I know her,” you went on. “How she moves. How she thinks. How she hides. She’s not some mastermind, but you’ve been chasing her blind.” 

Ellie scoffed. “I’ve made it this far.” 

“Have you?” you asked. “You got lucky. You almost walked into a WLF trap three blocks back. That sniper in the tower? I established that patrol spot. That’s bait and you almost walked right into it.” 

Ellie’s face darkened. “So you’re still with them? The WLF?” 

You pulled your jacket aside and tossed a bloodied, faded patch onto the ground—the WLF insignia, torn off, burned at the edges. 

“Because If I was, you’d already be dead,” You said. “And probably so would I.” 

Another silence. But this one felt different. 

Something shifted—not trust, not yet. But a truce. 

Ellie slowly lowered her gun. You didn’t drop yours right away, but you stepped back, gave her space. 

You both stood there in the rain, staring at each other. Two ghosts in the same graveyard. 

Finally, Ellie said, “you get me to her, we kill her. And when this is over, we go our separate ways.”

“Deal,” you said. 

—-------------------------------------------

You weren’t sure why she hadn’t walked away. 

Maybe it was because you knew Seattle better than she did. Or maybe she was just desperate enough to take a bad bet. Either way, Ellie followed you. One street behind, boots splashing in the shallow rainwater that pooled through the city. 

The silence was thick between you, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the whistle of wind through the cracked windows. You moved fast and low, cutting through alleys and abandoned storefronts with practiced ease. You didn’t ask if she was keeping up—you could hear her. She didn’t ask if you knew where you were going. 

You both just moved. 

“Don’t step there,” you muttered, throwing an arm out to stop her from placing a boot down on what looked like nothing but muddy gravel. 

She froze. You crouched, pulled back a piece of broken metal, and revealed the tripwire laced between two chunks of rubble. 

“Claymore,” you explained. “WLF’s favorite toy.” 

Ellie raised a brow. “So you did help lay these?”

“Some,” you admitted. “Most of the inner city’s a patchwork of old Fedra, WLF death traps, and improvised scar paranoia. I have a map of everything. Isaac thinks the traps are enough to keep everyone out.” You gave her a glance. “I’m 99% sure Isaac thinks I’m dead.” 

Ellie stepped over the wire, brushing past you, eyes still scanning. “So why are you going back?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you checked the rusted signpost ahead and motioned left. You both ducked into what used to be a pharmacy, now gutted and stripped clean, floor covered in shattered glass and old needles. 

“Abby’s not a good person,” you said finally. “We—uh—dated for a while. After everything that happened in Jackson, I told her she was selfish and an asshole. I watched her justify the slaughter with the same calm voice she used to tell me she loved me. And then one morning on, the way back from Jackson, she told me she would do it all over again, and then left me on the trail alone.” 

You swallowed hard, glancing at Ellie. 

“She used me. And when I stopped being useful, she left me behind. Literally.” 

Ellie didn’t say anything at first. Just pulled her jacket’s hood lower over her soaked hair. But her voice, when it came, wasn’t sharp. 

“But that’s not really grounds for killing her.”

“Are you really going to try and convince me that the woman who murdered what I assume is your dad in cold blood doesn’t deserve to die?” You paused, looked at her. 

She looked away.

The two of you moved on, quieter now. Together, but still with a cautious distance between your bodies. Not close enough for comfort. Just close enough to cover each other if something went wrong.

And it did—faster than you expected. 

You were crossing what used to be an old SkyTrain overpass, the metal groaning beneath your feet, when you heart it. 

Whistling. 

Ellie spun the second you dropped to your knees. 

“Scars,” you hissed. “Get down.”

Another whistle answered, and then came the twang of a bowstring. The arrow struck the pole inches from Ellie’s shoulder. 

“Down, idiot!” You shouted. 

She didn’t hesitate. You rolled to cover, pulled your sidearm, and fired once—blunt suppression, not a kill. It brought time, not safety. 

Ellie popped up and fired two clean shots into the brush. You heard a body drop. 

You moved together. Not like strangers now, but like soldiers who’d been under fire before. Every step was backed by instinct, by necessity. Ellie’s blade found a second Seraphite who tried to flank you. Your own bullet dropped the third who had almost crept up behind her. 

When the quiet finally returned, your hands were shaking. Hers were bloodied, but steady. 

“Thanks,” you said, breathing hard, eyes still scanning. 

She nodded once, leaning against the low wall beside you. “You were right,” she admitted. “I don’t know this city.” 

“I told you,” you said, a small grin ghosting your lips. “You’ve been getting lucky. But Seattle sucks.” 

She turned to you, and for a moment, she looked at you as if she was seeing something different now. 

“You saved me,” she said, like she was testing the words in her mouth. 

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, half-joking. “You’ll owe me next time.” 

“I already do,” she murmured, barely audible. 

The moment stretched, both of you sitting there in the rain-slicked ruin, backs against cold cement, adrenaline still thick in your blood. 

You glanced sideways. “You hungry?” 

She raised an eyebrow. “We’re surrounded by death cults and probably being hunted by your former employers. So yeah, starving.” 

You pulled a half-smashed WLF ration protein bar from your bag and tossed it her way. “Luxury.” 

She caught it, grinned. 

And just like that, something cracked. Not quite a friendship, but not enemies anymore.

—------------------------------

The rain had let up just enough to leave a thick mist in its place, curling between the buildings like breath from a dying city. You were leading Ellie through a narrow corridor of collapsed storefronts and overgrown fences, careful with every step. Her boots were quieter now, movements sharper. She was learning your tempo. 

“Nora is stationed at the hospital, so I assume Abby will be there too for a few more days,” you murmured, crouching behind the burned-out sedan motioning for Ellie to follow. “Not staying there long, her place is in the WLF base, but she gets stationed there with Nora every now and again.”

“You sure?” she asked, her voice low but skeptical. 

“I’d stake your life on it.” 

Ellie snorted. “Comforting.” 

You moved fast through a side alley, ducking under a fire escape, boots crunching glass as you slid into the skeleton of a half-collapsed cafe. 

CRACK–!

The sound wasn’t a gunshot, but it was equally a death sentence. 

The floor gave way beneath you without warning, the rotted wood splintering like wet paper. You felt the drop in your gut before you even screamed, landing hard on your back in the dust-choked dark of the basement below. 

Pain shot up your spine. 

“Shit!” Ellie’s voice from above. “Hey–hey! Are you—?!”

“I’m fine!” you coughed, before covering your mouth with a bandana you had tied to your belt, struggling upright. 

You turned your head. Rats scattered across the floor. Light spilled in from the hole in the floor and the flashlight on your backpack, casting just enough light to show you the worst news of the night. 

“Ellie,” you called up, heart pounding. “The basement is full of spores!”

“Shit,” she muttered. “You have your mask?” 

You were already scrambling through your pack with shaking hands. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” You snapped it on with practiced speed, wincing as the strap tugged against your neck. “Don’t come down here. There’s a door—I think to the left—see if it leads to the stairwell or up to another floor. I’ll meet you up top.” 

“No.” 

Your head jerked up. “No?” 

“I’m not leaving you down there. She was already moving, checking the ledge for a safe place to drop, ignoring the debris that tumbled with each step. “You’re hurt.” 

“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, but your voice cracked around it. 

She didn’t argue. Just let herself down, landing with a grace you couldn’t afford right now. Her boots crunched across the debris, flashlight beam sweeping until it hit you. You caught the look on her face and instantly regretted not lying harder. 

“You look like shit,” she said bluntly, approaching fast. 

“I just fell through a floor. Forgive me for not sticking the landing.” 

“Can you walk?” 

“I can limp attractively, if that helps.” 

She didn’t laugh. Just hauled you up to your feet and slung your arm over her shoulders, looping her other hand around your waist. You hissed, pain spiking so hard you vision swam for a second. 

“Easy,” she murmured, guiding you slowly. “Jesus… you’re lucky you didn’t break your spine.” 

“Yet,” you muttered. “I think I broke rib instead.” 

You could feel her pressed against your side—warm and solid, her breath steady, her movements careful. She kept her head turned slightly to avoid the worst of the spores, her mask on tightly, but didn’t look at you. 

“You really don’t need to be down here,” you said again, softer this time.

“Shut up.” 

There was no venom in it. Just quiet resolve. 

You limped toward the far end of the hallway, past overturned filing cabinets and collapsed lockers. She scanned the walls until she found a rusted emergency exit, the sign barely legible under the years of grime. 

It took both of you to shove the door open, a grinding scrape of metal against concrete, and when it gave way, the staircase beyond smelled like rot and damp mold, but not spores. Safe enough. Ellie helped you out first, then followed, pausing only to let the door swing closed behind you. 

When you reached the second landing, your legs gave out. She caught you before you hit the floor again, easing you down until you were sitting against the wall, chest heaving, back screaming. 

“Hey. Breathe,” she said, crouching in front of you. “You’re okay.” 

You laughed, hollow and aching. “Sure. Floor tried to murder me, but otherwise great.” 

“You might have a concussion,” she said, serious now. “You hit your head?” 

“No, just my pride.” 

She looked at you, flashlight off now, just her face in the dim light that bled in from a broken window above. Her expression was hard to read—worry, maybe. Or something close to it. 

“You didn’t have to come down,” you said again, quietly this time. 

“I know,” she said. And for once, she didn’t follow it with sarcasm or a threat. 

You let the silence stretch, both of you just breathing. You noticed the cut on her forearm from earlier—still bleeding a little. You reached into your bag, pulled a half-crushed bandage and a bottle of antiseptic. 

“Here,” you said, offering it. “For the road rash.” 

Ellie blinked at you, then took it slowly, watching your face the whole time. “You keep doing that.” 

“What?” 

“Surprising me.” 

You looked away. “Well… I’m not trying to.” 

She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then her voice dropped low—softer than you’d heard it before. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” 

You looked back at her, your knee pressed to hers, both of you bruised and bloodied. 

“Me too,” you said, barely audible. 

For a second, there was something warm between you—not a flame, not yet, but the flicker of a match just lit after a cold breeze. 

Then Ellie stood, all business again. 

“C’mon. Let’s move before anything finds us down here.” 

She offered a hand. 

You took it.

And this time, when she pulled you up, you didn’t try to let go too fast.

If you enjoyed this one shot, please make sure to check out my other series!

[dnvrsmedia]

love at first suture

abigail anderson x medic!reader

warnings: mentions of injuries (no gore)

canon universe setting, no pronouns or r physical attributes used!

°°°

Soft light enters the hallway as the rising sun shines its beams onto Earth, enveloping its warm rays like a blanket on your skin. Puffs of air leave your sleeping lover's mouth as her chest steadily rises at a rhythmic rate. Calm is the state you find yourself in on the rare occasion you wake up before the blonde. Her long hair cascades along her broad shoulders like a warm toned waterfall. On days like these you feel a little bit more filled with gratitude. Never have you believed in soulmates until you met yours. Abigail Anderson was the textbook definition of your other half. She fulfilled every need, want, hope, and dream you could ever have asked for—ever so effortlessly. Love was never easy, but loving Abby was the easiest thing you have ever done.

Your hand moved to tuck a stray piece of hair from tickling her nose. A giggle erupts from your mouth as the blonde scrunches her nose and furrows her brows, trying to get away from the tickling strand of hair. Her body relaxes with a content hum as you free her from the itching. Abby moves into your hand, subconsciously yearning for your touch. No matter how big and scary she looks to others, you’ll always know the true Abby. Your loving and caring partner. Abby who goes to the ends of the earth for what she believes in. Your sweet girl and most powerful protector.

Reminiscing on when you first met always brings a smile to your face. The once tough girl falling into a puddle of mush—flushed beyond belief as you patch her up in the infirmary. You were newer to the area and quickly became one of the most crucial surgeons for the WLF. Abby luckily was not hurt badly, just a few lacerations to various parts of her body. Leaving only a slightly deeper cut on her upper thigh. The blonde stubborn as always, grumbled her way in the infirmary. Nora being the only one to get through her thick skull.

“Abigail I swear to god if you don’t sit your ass in that fucking chair-“ Nora’s voice heard through the groans and chaos of the infirmary.

Your eyebrows shoot up in amusement. In the few months you’ve been with WLF, you’ve known that Abby was not one to be fucked with. The top scar killer, Isaac’s number one asset, was one to be listened to. You had only a few run-ins with the tall blonde. Abby did well in either playing down her injuries or patching herself up. Yet, here she was, being yelled at like a toddler by her best friend. Tail tucked between her legs with an adorable pout to her plush lips. Her thick thighs spread wide after unceremoniously plopping into your open chair. Her pout could be seen from miles away as scoffs left her lips.

“Hi, how can I help you?” You don your nitrile gloves with a ‘snap’.

Abby’s stubborn nature made her snarl before she looked up at you. All of her previous stipulations melt away as her eyes meet yours. The stubborn blond rendered speechless as her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

“Uh-I…um-” Abby struggles to speak as she dumbly points to her thigh.

Nora catches onto her best friend’s actions with a smirk as she nudges Abby’s watermelon sized bicep.

“This dumbass needs stitches on her thigh and bicep. The other lacerations aren’t deep enough for stitches, but a good cleaning should fix it. I’d help her myself but I'm busy and you need more friends, bye!” Nora rushes the last sentence before going into the middle of the storm of hurt soldiers.

Crimson red is the color that peaks under Abby’s freckles. Your own belly betrays you as it flutters w butterflies. Her teeth sitting atop her tucked in bottom lip makes your knees weak. You snap out of your trance, turning to attend to the matter at hand. Your fingers fumble with the suture package before placing your materials on your tray. You sit down on your stool before her.

“How are you feeling? I’m sure there’s no major injuries since your reluctance to be checked out, but this is a pretty gnarly cut here.” Your gloved hand caresses her clothed thigh that currently has a gash in the fabric.

Abby’s thighs tense at the feeling of your gentle finger caressing her. You take that as a symptom of tenseness and pull away immediately in worry. Abby silently curses herself.

“Is that painful there? I could check you out some more to see-” You ramble before being cut off by the blonde.

“N-no i'm okay just wasn’t ready for your touch. I didn't mind it.” She smirks, loving the shy smile that adorned your lips.

“Oh! Okay then, that’s perfect. So I’m just gonna need you to uh take off your pants- or what’s left of them, to stitch you up and send you on your way.” Your eyes veer from her eyes, oozing with nerves. Abby has this effect on you that you couldn’t explain.

Meanwhile, Abby is trying not to lose her shit at the thought of taking her pants off for you. She wished she was taking them off for a different circumstance-

“Uh, *cough*, yeah, th- that’s fine.” Abby tried-and failed- at keeping a cool and mysterious tone. In actuality, her brain was going a mile a minute all because of the beauty in front of her.

She stands and unbuckles her belt in front of you. Due to your height difference as you were still on your stool, her hips stood at face level. Your mouth salivates at the filthy thoughts flooding through your brain. You clear your throat and turn your head in a hurry, pretending to preoccupy yourself with something useless. Once the clang of her heavy belt buckle sounds, signaling it hitting the ground, you turn back to your patient. Your eyes bulge out of your eyes at the sight. You thought her thighs looked good before but holy shit. Her sculpted thighs were something to worship. Yet, this certainly was not the time.

You get through your mini short circuit and immediately get to work cleaning her wounds. The whole time you talk the blonde through what you’re doing. Abby wasn’t stupid, she was actually decently knowledgeable on things of the sort due to her late father, yet she didn’t once stop you to mention she knew what you were doing. She fell in love with your passion to heal others, your passion for your craft. Any frustrations from her patrol melted away as she listened and watched you work. Soft giggles leave your lips as Abby filters in jokes every now and then. If your voice is honey then your laugh is heaven to her. The way your nose scrunched when she said something you found particularly funny or dorky made her heart soar. Your laugh gave Abby a high that no drugs could ever give her.

“You are good to go!” You finish wrapping her bandage securely.

“If you have any questions feel free to stop by, okay? Make sure you’re not doing any rigorous training or activities for at least a few days.” You pointedly look at her with your eyebrows raised. You may be new but you know that all of your warnings will go in one ear and out the other.

Abby laughs at your knowing look, wondering how you could read her so well so soon. Unbeknownst to the two of you, that would only be the beginning.

[buckysgrace]

8. Easy Lover

Billy Hargrove x Fem!OC/Tommy Hagan x Fem!OC

Now That We Don't Talk

CW: Cheating, stepcest

Kim

“Mornin’.” Billy greeted her first thing, his hair styled neatly and face clean shaven and smooth. Except for a patch across his top lip, telling her that he was working on growing his mustache out again. Which she liked. 

“You’re up early.” She stated, feeling her cheeks heat up at the thought of how late they’d been up last night. He’d managed to make her feel desirable again, like she really was all the things that he called her to be. 

“Wanted to see your pretty smile.” He grinned as he flickered his eyes across her body, lingering at the way her shirt dipped over her chest. 

“Stop,” She flushed, feeling shy as she held the towel to her chest, “I look like a mess.” She shook her head shyly, chewing on her bottom lip before she worked on flipping the eggs on the pan. She knew Billy wasn’t a fan, but Nora liked them. 

“You don’t,” He replied, eyes full of sincerity, “But you would be my mess.” He walked behind her, swatting her behind quickly as she gasped in response. She turned towards him in disbelief, watching as a cocky smile formed on his lips while he poured himself a cup of coffee. 

“I-,” She stopped herself, dragging her eyes back towards the pan of bacon as Tommy dragged himself down to the kitchen, “Good morning.” She waved at him, lips curling into a grin before it quickly fell. 

He grumbled, not even looking at her as he pulled the fridge open. He pulled a beer from the fridge, making her cock her eyebrow in confusion. 

“Hey, are you alright?” She asked, surprised at the quick manner he opened it. He looked angry. She’d seen him hungover before, but never like this. 

“Yeah,” Tommy said as he nodded his head stiffly, “I’m fine.” He met her eyes then, furious lines deepening on his face as he glanced between her and Billy. 

“You look a little green,” She commented, “Hungover?” She questioned, trying to think of the last remedy that had worked on him. She felt like it had been a long time since he’d drank that much. 

“Maybe.” He shrugged as he took a big drink, still glaring a hole into the back of Billy’s head. Perhaps he thought that Billy stole his watch. She wasn’t sure. 

“Do you want something to eat?” She asked while she looked at the food cooking. It would be a few more minutes, but she could probably find him something to eat now. 

“Christ, I’m fine.” He snapped, slamming his beer down on the counter before he stomped out of the kitchen. She dropped her jaw in surprise, not used to him speaking to her in such a way. He wasn’t acting right. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Billy asked, cocking his dark eyebrows as she began to ponder over it. She gulped hard, coming to a decision quite quickly. “Do you think he knows?” She whispered, horrified as her heart began to beat roughly against her bones. She wondered what Tommy would do. Would he hate her? Of course he would. There was no escaping that. She had done something horrible to him. 

“No,” He shook his head, giving her a brief but comforting touch against her back, “It’s fine. Don’t think too much about it.” She nodded her head in agreement, hoping that she was right as she finished up breakfast. They just needed to be more careful.

Breakfast was quiet, awkward as Tommy remained in a tense mood. Whatever he was mad about, he was taking it out on everyone else. It made her heart race, her thoughts spin as she was sure he was suspicious. He had to be. 

“How many dollies do you have now?” She asked as Nora worked on getting all of her baby dolls laid out on the couch. She was covering them up, insisting she needed to keep them warm while they ran up to the grocery store. 

“Uh,” Nora paused, holding her hands on her hips and sticking her lips out as she thought about it, “Six?” She tapped her finger against her chin, her lips moving as she quietly began to count again. 

“I see seven.” Kim offered gently, showcasing the doll that had been buried underneath the blanket. Nora gasped loudly. 

“Oh yeah!” She nodded her head enthusiastically, “I fowgot that one, mama.” She giggled as she ran forward, giving each of the dolls a little kiss on the top of their heads. 

“It’s okay,” She smiled gently as she pushed Nora’s hair out of her face, “Now you can remember.” She joined Nora on the floor, letting her fuss over the blanket for another few minutes. 

“Daddy otay?” Nora asked as she turned towards her, furrowing her little brows together in confusion. Kim frowned, feeling bad once again.

“I think he’s just tired,” She nodded her head gently, “He’s kinda cranky today, isn’t he?” She suggested softly, wondering if they could find something nice to bring back to him. Maybe he was just facing a bad hangover. Or perhaps something bad had happened at work. 

“Mhm,” Nora hummed as she got her dolls settled on the couch once again, “I weady now. Hi! You going?” She stopped, her expression lighting up as she stared up towards where Billy had entered. 

“Uh,” Billy stalled for a second, “Sure. Is that alright?” He turned towards Kim, wrinkling his eyebrows in confusion. She paused, taking in how similar Nora had looked when she’d done it just a few minutes ago. 

“Yeah,” She gulped as she played with her hair, unable to stop herself as she twisted the strands around her fingers, “It’s just grocery shopping. Nothing special.” She shrugged her shoulders before she stood up slowly. 

“I get a toy?” Nora asked, wobbling out as Billy held the door open for them. He chuckled, meeting Kim’s eye as she shook her head. 

“You just got a bunch of toys,” She laughed as she turned towards Nora, “There’s no room for anymore.” She reminded her, unlocking the van as Nora sped up towards it. 

“Maybe.”

“Are you driving?” Billy asked, looking at her surprise as she pulled the door open. Nora reached up, grinning widely as she placed her in her spot. 

“I drive,” She laughed as she buckled Nora into her carseat, “I have to.” She told him, thinking that she was a much better driver than she used to be. Curbs just happened to come out of nowhere occasionally.

“I’ll drive us.” He suggested as she shut the door, making her look at him in surprise. He was grinning, holding his hand out as he waited for the keys. 

“I’m a much better driver now,” She defended herself, “I don’t mind.” She said seriously, wondering if she should prove herself to him. He chuckled. 

“Let me earn my keep,” He teased as he held his palm out, “I won’t speed. I swear.” He held his hands up innocently as she thought about it, deciding that she did like just sitting in the passenger seat. It was nice. 

“Alright,” She dropped the keys in his palm gently, taking a step closer to him as her lips pulled into a smile, “Only because you asked so nicely.” She teased right back, biting her bottom lip before she wiggled past him to get into her seat. She inhaled deeply, liking the domesticity that followed them. 

“Hey,” Nora spoke up from her seat, “Uncle Biwwy?” She questioned, kicking her feet gently as she gained his attention. He flickered his eyes back towards her, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Hm?” He hummed softly, listening as he kept his eyes towards the road. Kim wondered if he wanted more of a relationship with Nora. Maybe they could work on that one day. 

“Do you wike kitties or puppies mowe?” She asked curiously, her sweet voice carrying through the car. Kim grinned, shaking her head softly as she already knew the answer to that question. 

“I like cats.” He stated as he looked forward, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he took the familiar route. Kim had no idea how he still remembered everything despite being gone for so long. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do so. 

“Mama and daddy say no when I ask.” She pouted when Kim turned to face her, her jaw going slack at her answer. 

“When did you ask for a kitty?” She asked the toddler seriously, but squinted her eyes playfully to try and recall when she had ever asked. Nora giggled as she laced her fingers together over her soft tummy. 

“I ask nana.” She said slowly, still giggling as Kim continued to contort her face deeper into disbelief. She wasn’t sure if she was referring to Susan or Tommy’s mother, but she wasn't surprised that either of them had said no. 

“Your grandma is allergic to cats,” Kim clarified as she shook her head, “Did you ask me?” She questioned as she tilted her head, listening as Billy chuckled next to her. 

“No,” Nora said slowly, her eyes lighting up, “Mama can I get a kitty?” She brought up slowly, sneakily as Kim gasped again. What a stinker.

“We’ll have to ask your dad about it.” She decided on, slowly turning as Billy glanced towards her. She took a deep breath then, wondering if that was the correct thing to compromise on. 

“I would say yes.” He replied softly, making her heart ache a bit for him. She nodded her head in agreement, trying to find ideas on how he could bond with his daughter without it being suspicious. 

“I wike Uncle Biwwy.” Nora spoke up in the back, adding a little relief to her thoughts. Maybe it wouldn’t be too difficult as long as the toddler grew accustomed to the idea. Hopefully. 

“Me too.” Kim said softly, linking her fingers together before she nervously cracked them. Her heart fluttered roughly inside of her chest as Billy moved his large hand against her thigh, giving her a little squeeze. Just enough to reassure her as well. 

She took a second to ensure that Nora couldn’t see before she linked her fingers with his, enjoying the sensation of their skin against one another’s. She turned her hand over so she could see his better. The lines on his hands were still the same, as were the rings that he bore. She wondered how long it had been since she’d memorized him. 

“No,” Nora frowned as she held her hand up once Kim opened the back door, “Uncle Biwwy do it.” She demanded, full of attitude as she cranked her head around to look towards him. Kim took a step back, perfectly fine with that. 

“Uh,” He paused as he looked at it, “How do I get her unhooked?” He rubbed his palms over his jeans, looking far more nervous than what he needed to. Although she understood. She remembered the first time she had to pull Nora out of the complicated trap. 

“You start with the bottom one,” Kim instructed, “And then the middle one should come off easily.” She told him, watching as he worked with shaky hands. He seemed nervous, even more timid when Nora reached her arms out for him.

He glanced back at Kim for a second, looking unsure before she gave her head a little nod. It was hard not to smile as she watched him struggle to get his arms around Nora, before ultimately figuring out how to lift her. 

He held her against his hip awkwardly at first, looking like he wasn’t sure how to adjust her before he finally figured out how to hold onto her. She watched as he relaxed, a glimmer of happiness filling his eyes as he turned towards the toddler.

“Good job,” Nora smiled, “But mommy does it better.” She stated as she nodded her head, showcasing a mischievous grin on her lips before she dropped her head onto his shoulder. He looked surprised at first, but then gave her a little squeeze in return. Cute. Kim wished she had brought her camera. 

“I see,” He chuckled, blinking a few times as he turned away from the both of them, “I guess I’ll have to practice more often.” He replied, his tone rough as they walked towards the front of the store. She glanced at them again, hoping that things could be better soon enough. 

“Do you want to push the cart?” She asked softly as she pulled it out of the section, letting him be the one to gently maneuver Nora into it. He moved so timidly, like he was afraid he was going to hurt her. 

“What should we start with?” He asked as he double checked Nora’s legs, ensuring that she wasn’t getting pinched by anything. 

“Candy!” She shrieked excitedly, blue eyes filling with joy as she clapped her hands together. Billy’s smile grew as he pushed the cart forward, seeming to be fascinated with her. 

“I wish,” Kim smiled at her, “I thought the dry stuff first, then cold and then frozen,” She explained as she looked down at her list, “Uh, cereal first?” She questioned as she looked at her too long list. 

“I like mellows.” Nora did her best to whisper to Billy, eyes sparkling as she kicked her feet in the air. 

“She likes to pick them out of the cereal,” She added to Nora’s statement, “And leave the cereal for me to eat.” She grinned as the little girl began to giggle once again. 

“Sounds like something you’d do.” Billy grumbled as he turned towards her, making her shrug her shoulders innocently. Maybe she would, but Tommy didn’t enjoy the same cereal they did. Leaving her to the plain part of the cereal. 

Somewhere along the way, as usual, they had drifted into their shopping trip. Shoes and articles of clothing had been examined. Then books. And of course they had to drift through the toy aisle. Just to look of course. 

“You know your mom used to have these stars,” Billy grinned as he held the little sticky ones up, “She put them on her ceiling.” He explained as Nora watched with interest, nodding her head in agreement. 

“Me too.” She added, having a way of batting her eyelashes and smiling so innocently to get what she wanted. Despite all other things, Kim knew that she had learned that from Tommy. Without a doubt. 

“Hm,” Billy grinned as he put in the cart, “I’ll get it for her.” He stated as he watched Kim drop her head, feeling a little bad that he felt like he had to get her things. She knew that was why he was doing it. 

“She just had her birthday.” She added as she tickled at Nora’s ribs, making her giggle and do her best to wiggle away. 

“I didn’t get her anything,” He shrugged his shoulders, “Let me have this.” He smiled as he fixed the toddler’s hair once again, running his fingers gently through her soft curls. 

“Alright,” She said softly, “I can do that.” She agreed with him, moving forward so they could get out of the toy aisle. She had a feeling if Nora asked, Billy would give it to her. 

The trip was nice, but it honestly left her a little sad as she realized what her life could’ve been. She wondered where they would be if he had never left, if she had never married someone else. Maybe they’d have more kids. Maybe they would’ve decided that one was enough. She wished she had the answer. 

“Go take it to your room,” She encouraged Nora with a soft smile, “Maybe Uncle Billy can help you set them up.” She suggested, grinning as Nora gripped his hand and tugged him forward. 

She worked on putting the groceries away, trying to decide what would be good for dinner tonight. She thought about making something special for Tommy, maybe his favorite meal. She hoped that would help his bad mood.

“A nice family outing, yeah?” Tommy spoke up as he leaned against the doorway, his expression stoic as he crossed his arms and watched her. She paused as she dropped the paper bags on the counter, not liking the way he was looking at her. 

“We got groceries,” She stated in confusion, furrowing her eyebrows together at the way he snorted, “Tommy, what’s wrong?” She asked him softly, seriously. She wondered if something had happened at the bar last night. Or maybe it was something with his dad again. She wanted to help him through whatever it was. 

“You.” He snapped his eyes up towards her, making her take a step back in surprise. Her tongue felt heavy, mouth dry as her heart plummeted down to her stomach. It was a terrifying feeling, but she wondered if she should just be honest. 

“Me?” She asked as she gestured to herself, like there might be someone magically hiding behind her. She knew she shouldn’t be so surprised, so upset. But she was. She thought it would be best that she told Tommy on her own time. When she thought it would be right. 

“Yes, you,” He seethed as he pointed at her, “You’re what’s wrong with me.” The sentence rolled off of his tongue like fire, seeping venom. She nearly took a step back, not used to such bitterness falling from his tongue. 

“What did I do?” She asked, tensing up as he grabbed his keys from the dish on the side table, “Where are you going? Let’s talk about this.” She said quickly, wondering if it was time to just tell him. Maybe this was the right moment. 

“I don’t want to talk to you.” He said as he stomped towards the door, shoving things out of the way as he walked quickly to his destination. She had never seen him so angry before. It made her anxious. 

“You’re not going to tell me what I did wrong?” She asked him softly, throat raw as she waited for him to spit out the truth. It would be easier this way. She was sure of it. 

“Fuck you.” He turned towards her, dark eyes full of fury. She stared in disbelief, feeling herself double down once again. If he didn’t want to talk, then that was up to him. 

“Then go,” She spit out angrily, offended by the way he was looking at her, “You’re being real mature!” She yelled after him, unsure of why she was so angry suddenly. 

He slammed the door behind him, doing it so roughly that the whole house seemed to shake from it. She blinked slowly, lungs tight as the walls came crashing down around her. 

“What’s wrong?” Billy’s voice sounded far away, too distant to really be behind her. She inhaled sharply, her mind swarming with fear as her pulse race roughly against the crook of her neck. 

“He knows,” She held her arms to her chest, feeling like she might faint as she paced back and forth, “He does. I can tell.” She spit out, tears falling down her cheeks as she took deep breaths. Her heart was beating too harshly, her nerves intensified as her anxiety spread deep within her.

“Calm down,” He said gently as he stopped her, holding onto her biceps as he rubbed his thumbs against her skin, “You’re fine. Everything is going to be fine.” He promised her as she began to shake her head, her heart racing painfully in her chest. 

“He knows,” She repeated, hiccuping as she inhaled harshly, “He’s going to be so hurt.” She wondered if he would come back, or if he had left just like that. She didn’t want it to all happen like this. But it was her own fault. She should’ve changed things a long time ago. 

“Did he say anything?” He asked, making her shake her head quickly as she wasn’t able to speak suddenly, “Then there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure everything is going to be fine.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close to his chest. 

She dropped her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes as the guilt spread deep within her. Her life was so jumbled, so twisted that she didn’t know what she should do. She wished things were easier. 

“I don’t want to hurt him,” She whispered softly, sniffling as Billy held her tighter, “I never meant to do that.” She knew it was a pathetic answer, a bad excuse. She hadn’t ever thought about hurting him when she was dating him while sleeping with Billy. Things just weren’t supposed to get like this. 

“I don’t want to either,” He told her softly, his voice soft as he kissed her forehead a few times, “We’ll figure this out. I promise you.” 

Tags: @cassandracorvo @jessicar401 @mrprettywhenhecries @losingmygrasponreality

[primecat9]

Chasing the Light

Summary: Nora Armstrong, a no-nonsense former Navy vet who lands a job as a secretary at Da Kine Bail Bonds. While adjusting to her new life in Hawaii, she quickly becomes part of the crew. As Nora takes on her first bounty, sparks fly between her and Leland. Soon Nora discovers that she's not just a part of the crew-she's beginning to find a home in their hearts. Will the chase lead to more than just captured fugitives?

For Reference: This story starts at the tail end of 2005 and will go through the following year. Leland is 28, and Nora is 27.

Pairing: Leland Chapman x OC (Nora Armstrong)

Author's Note: Uuuuuuh.... I can explain. I had a really rough week of life and my brain grabbed onto it's favorite comfort character from when I was teen. And just ran with it.

Fun fact: I wrote a Leland fic when I was like 10 and it got found by my mom. So maybe this is my way of revenging what could have been the start of my fanfic career.

Flexing Under Pressure (S1:E1)

The office buzzed with energy as phones rang and the faint smell of coffee lingered in the air. Nora Armstrong, a poised yet unassuming woman with sharp brown eyes and a subtle air of military discipline, adjusted her necklace as she jotted notes on a bail inquiry. Her first week at Da Kine Bail Bonds was a whirlwind, but if her time in the Navy taught her anything, it was how to adapt quickly and handle high-pressure situations.

But right now, that mountain of manila envelopes looked like a formidable foe. And she was only equipped with her Starbucks coffee and muffin to trudge through it.

Nora had just turned on the radio-an old George Strait song crooning through the speakers-when Beth swept in with her usual presence.

Beth Interview "We met Nora through an old friend of my dads. She just got out of the service and was a little lost on what to do next. So she worked for Bobby for a bit before I convinced her to come try out Hawaii. Bobby already had enough good girls working for him." Beth explained, fanning herself with a file while smiling.

"Good morning, your Starbucks is on your desk." Nora smiled as Beth mouthed a silent 'thank you' before disappearing into the office behind her. It didn't take long before the sound of steel-toed boots hitting the carpet brought her attention back to the door. This time it was the infamous Dog, strutting in like he owned the place.

Well.... he did. But he acted like that in every place he walked into.

"Good morning. Beth had me get you some tea. Should be on your desk." Nora announced with a smile as she opened the next file.

"Thanks, Sunshine. Been a while since we had someone to run coffee. Did you get Leland anything? He's kinda grumpy in the morning." Dog chuckled as she nodded, having already asked Beth days before everyone's preference.

Dog Interview Dog is sitting in his office chair while drinking the tea Nora had just brought in for him. "Now, I call Nora 'Sunshine' because she's got this energy about her. When she first walked into the office, we'd been through a pretty rough patch-lots of slip-ups, fugitives getting away-and the place was a bit... heavy. But then here comes Nora, all calm and smiles, and suddenly everything feels a little brighter. She's not like the others-she's got this way of handling pressure with a quiet strength. It's like she's got a little light of her own that makes everything better."

"Yup, it's on his desk and Duane Lee has a monster in the fridge," Nora confirmed taking a sip of her own coffee.

"Good girl. You're a quick learner." Dog praised before disappearing into his half of the office and turning on the TV. Nora turned back to start working on the computer when Leland walked in this time. This time he beat her to the greeting.

"Morning." He grinned, tapping the desk as he walked by toward his little safety corner to help his dad out today. Nora, unabashedly, watched him walk by in the camo pants and black t-shirt before she turned back to the paperwork.

"Morning, Nora. You're up bright and early... or is that just because of the view?" Beth asked suddenly appearing at Nora's side, causing her to startle a bit and the flush to come to her cheeks awfully quick.

"Just used to early starts. Hard habit to break." Nora shrugged trying to regain her composure as she looked up to Beth who was already giving her a grin with a knowing look. "Beth...I..."

"Just be careful..." Beth warned as she walked past to go sit with Dog and go over today's bounties. Wesley, the more senior admin, was busy getting some bonds ready for court. Nora let out a long held-up sigh before turning back to work.

In the other room, Dog had gathered the team, Nora could see the whiteboard being more and more filled with notes as she took a sip of her coffee.

But then she heard her name being called. Well, that was new.

She stood up quickly and walked into the room, almost falling in attention when Dog addressed her.

"Yes?" Nora tilted her head as now several sets of eyes were on her.

"We need your help on this guy." Dog pointed toward the headshot taped onto the whiteboard. Nora hoped her jaw didn't drop open.

"What can I do to help? Need his file?" She asked, taking half a step towards the other half of the office.

"No. You're gonna help us trick this guy. You're gonna call him up and say that you work for us, and you messed up his paperwork and he need to fill out a new one. Have him meet you up the street to fill out a new copy." Dog explained and Beth glanced back at me before turning back to Dog.

"Duane... this guy is dangerous... do we really want our new secretary to be the bait?" Beth asked, maybe a little protective or a little bit hesitant to trust her just yet. Maybe a bit of both.

"She's a vet. She can take him if he tries anything, right?" Dog asked resting his hand on his hip and Nora took a breath before nodding.

"Yeah. We train for combat. But I rescued folks.... not detain them." She joked before Dog waved at her comment.

"Same training. Just a different outcome. We'll be in our vehicles nearby, as soon as he starts walking towards the car, BOOM, we'll nail him." Dog tried to reassure me, but Nora still felt a little nervous.

"Leland, you need to be ready to chase him. Don't let him get to her." Beth ordered, causing both her and Nora to turn to him for his confirmation. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

"I'm just saying, maybe it's a little early to throw her into the fire. Let her get her feet wet first." Leland tossed up and it was hard to miss everyone's surprised look.

"What's the matter, Leland? Afraid she'll outshine you?" Beth asked with a shit eating grin on her face as I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Just don't want her getting in over her head, that's all." Leland quickly returned, trying to brush it off just as genuine concern. Are his cheeks pink? I opened my both to agree but Dog stepped in first.

"Leland will get him before he touches you. That's what we keep him around for." Dog chuckled before tossing half of his blonde locks over his shoulder.

"Alright. I'm in." Nora smiled as Dog gave his own approval and called for everyone to suit up.

Nora moved to get waters for the vehicles, trying not to dwell too much on what she had agreed to do. She had just finished loading up the cooler when Leland appeared at her side with a radio in hand and the file.

"Here. You're on the right channel. Just click this to talk." He explained, showing her the little button on the side before handing it to her.

"Thanks. You better catch the dude if he runs." Nora teased, knowing in this group it seemed a bit of roasting helped bring everyone a little closer.

"Yeah yeah..." He chuckled waving her off as he headed over to get suited up as Dog whistled for them to return inside.

"Okay, go ahead and make the call. Just be calm so you don't set this guy off." Dog explained as he handed Nora the phone that was already on the speaker phone. She took the phone and dialed the number before sitting down on one of the nearby arms of the sofa.

Fugitive: Hello? Nora: Hi this is Debby from Da Kine Bail Bonds, is this Jace Calloway? Jace: Yes. Nora: Great, hey I'm in some hot water... I forgot to have you fill out some papers here and Beth chewed my ass out this morning. Could I maybe meet you at the...

Nora paused looking for a suggestion and Leland mouthed the 7 Eleven just a few miles up from the office.

Nora: ...The 7-Eleven on _____ street? It should only take like 5 minutes. Jace: Uuuuuhhhh Dog won't be there, right? Nora: No, they are on the big island. It's just me. giggle Jace: Uuuuh sure. Does 10:30 work? Nora: Sure. I'll call you when I pull in so we can find each other. Jace: Okay.

Nora said goodbye and hung up the phone with a chorus of praise. Beth beside her laughed a little that she was the bad guy in her story.

"Chewed you out, huh?" She teased pulling the little ponytail Nora had.

"What, I had to make it sound legit! And everyone knows you're the real boss around here." Nora laughed as Beth shouted in excitement.

"She's going in my car. Let's go." Beth praised wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they headed out to the two black escalades to roll out. She gave Nora a loving pat on the back as she climbed into the seat catty-corner from Beth and adjusted the vest she had on and her radio. The equipment feeling both familiar and odd.

Nora scrolled through her phone until Leland climbed into the car beside her and smiled at her. He digs at something in one of his bags and hands Nora a pair of shiny silver cuffs.

"Just in case. Doubt you'll get to use them today." Leland added and Nora raised a brow.

"Well that sounds like a challenge, Chapman." Nora chuckle before tucking them in her back pocket and watching as the landscape outside of the car started to rapidly change.

"We gotta test you out somehow, Armstrong." Leland added with a gentle tap to her arm. Nora rolled her eyes as Beth turned the radio on and drove to the meeting place.

Once they arrived there, Nora called up the defendant and moved to go sit at one of the nearby picnic tables as instructed by Dog and the crew.

Nora: Hey, Jace, it's Nora from Da Kine. I'm here at the gas station. At one of the benches. Just roll in when you get here. Jace: Okay. I should be there in like a minute. Nora: Okay!

Nora hung up the phone and tapped her radio twice, the signal they had agreed on. From her spot at the picnic table, she scanned the area. Beth and Leland sat in their black Escalade near the gas pumps, keeping a low profile. A few spots down, Dog and Duane Lee's SUV idled, barely visible past the rows of parked cars.

Dog's voice came through her earpiece, calm but charged with anticipation. "Alright, Sunshine. Keep your cool. As soon as he's in range, we've got him."

Time stretched unbearably thin, the seconds ticking louder in her head. Finally, a black truck roared into the lot, its tires screeching as it parked at an odd angle.

It was him.

Nora tapped the radio again. "Target's here. Black pickup, left of the pumps. He's getting out."

The tension crackled in the air, electric and heavy. The man stepped out of his truck, scanning the area with a wary gaze before locking onto Nora. She plastered on a nervous, slightly apologetic smile, playing the part of the frazzled clerk.

Dog's voice cut in. "Stay put. We move as soon as he's close enough."

The fugitive started toward Nora, his gait deliberate but cautious. Suddenly, the loud slam of a car door shattered the silence.

"Move! Move! Move!"

In a blur of motion, Dog and Leland exploded from either side of the lot, their sheer presence cutting through the man's bravado. Leland slammed him against the hood of a nearby car with practiced ease, Dog right there beside him.

"Get your hands behind your back! Now!" Leland barked, yanking the man's arms into place as he struggled and spat a flurry of expletives.

"Son of a bitch!" the fugitive snarled, twisting futilely. "You got nothing on me!"

Beth appeared at her side; Beth's grin wide as she clapped Nora on the shoulder. "And you thought being the bait was scary. Looks like you survived just fine."

Nora let out a shaky laugh, nodding as she watched the guys work. Leland didn't miss a beat when the fugitive turned his venom toward her.

"You set me up, you little-"

Before he could finish, Leland shoved him into the backseat with a satisfying thud.

"Watch your mouth," Leland growled.

The man sneered, attempting to spit at her feet, but Beth tugged Nora away with an amused shake of her head. "Let the boys handle him," she said as they made their way to the other SUV.

"Asshole," I muttered under my breath. Beth laughed, patting me again as we climbed into the safety of the car, leaving the fugitive to stew in his own rage.

Dog Interview Dog grins, flipping his long blond hair over his shoulder. "That's how we do it. Teamwork, timing, and a little bit of Sunshine to lure them in. They always fall for it."

"Nice work." Leland praised, holding out his fist for Nora to bump. She gently tapped it with her knuckles as Beth nodded in the rearview mirror.

"Wasn't too bad. He didn't seem very happy though." Nora joked as she pulled the cuffs Leland had given her out of her back pockets and returned them to him. Paying a little too close of attention to the way their fingers brushed.

The car ride on the way to jail was quiet, but maybe that was just because everyone was tired from the adrenaline dump.

At the jail, Duane Lee took in Jace to get him booked, the guy seemed a little less calm and to Nora's surprise, Leland brought him over to apologize.

"I'm sorry ma'am. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." Nora nodded with a soft smile, seeing Leland's hand still holding onto the guys arm just in case.

"Thank you for apologizing. No hard feelings. I'd be mad too." Nora said with a laugh as the guy nodded and Duane Lee took over from Leland and let him up the steps to hit the buzzer.

Leland leaned against the car next to Nora, chewing something idly, while Dog stepped over with a proud grin. "Not bad for your first bounty, huh?"

Nora stretched and let out a relieved sigh. "Nah, it could've been worse." She pushed her sunglasses up and over her forehead, eyes glinting from the sunlight.

Leland, now smirking, caught her attention. "Didn't even flinch when he spit at you."

Nora turned toward him, shrugging with a playful glint in her eye. "Guess I'm tougher than I look." She raised her arm, flexing a muscle, a teasing smile on her lips.

Leland immediately stepped up beside her and flexed his own arm in response, his grin widening. "You got nothin' on me!"

Nora rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Hey, I've been out for a minute. And I'm not doing it for the girls, like you are." She pointed toward the camera, making sure they caught the lighthearted jab.

Leland laughed, shaking his head as he waved her comment off. "Yeah, whatever!"

Nora smiled, climbing into the car beside him. She shut the door, her gaze lingering on Leland for just a moment before they both settled in, the weight of the day beginning to catch up with them.

Dog's Final Interview: Dog leaned back, his eyes twinkling as he watched Leland and Nora settle into the car. A small chuckle escaped him. "Another successful bounty, and I'm proud of Nora. She didn't just step up-she excelled." He gave a knowing glance, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "And hey, a little muscle doesn't hurt either. Might be some more 'tests' in her future." The camera panned out as Dog winked, the hint of mischief in his eyes. "We'll see what happens next, huh?"

[twdcomeback]

Do You Want The Walls Or Not? | TWD Governor X OC Fluff + Angst

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63015553

Nora has been a productive member of Woodbury for four months, and she's finally been invited to dinner with The Governor. She doesn't know why, exactly, but surely this is a good sign. Things take a bit of a turn when neither of them understands what the other really wants.

A bird darted over the wall, rustling the greenery crawling overtop as she rounded the corner. They had started chirping for the evening, and so long as she didn’t turn too far to the left or right, there was a brief moment that it seemed the world had never changed. The birds singing, the sun just beginning to set, the smell of roasted vegetables wafting over the garden wall. Nora came to a stop, the final few steps becoming precipitous. Becoming frightening as she thought about them. The lingering smell of woodsmoke felt familiar enough to steel her, ground her in this moment.

The offer, when it came up, didn’t seem like so much at the time. The Governor was a casual man once the work was done - it was just a matter of catching him at that time. He made himself scarce when he was “off the clock,” yet on more than one occasion expressed annoyance at the idea that people only saw him as “The Governor.”

She found herself, not for the first time, trying to work out what he really wanted. And, not for the first time, she suspected he didn’t know. When he offered the dinner with her, it was both formal and casual, both business and pleasure. Despite the uncertainty, as with almost all things he asked of her, she agreed. It wasn’t until she’d proved herself a capable addition to salvage runs that she’d been able to really meet him, although she had still received little more than a nod and a handshake. It took a few weeks more for a genuine compliment, a good joke, a pat on the shoulder. The same as she’d seen him do with his favored inner circle, standing off from the common folk.

Out there, outside the walls of Woodbury, she would never have sought such gestures. The world out there made sense in a way that was just as comforting as the smell of smoke. There were no complaints about a safe bed to fall into at the end of the day. It felt nice, of course, to be appreciated. But out there it would have been strange to receive an audience with one man as a reward for hard work. In here, getting close with the architect of this patch of paradise seemed as valuable as anything else.

It was for this reason that Nora hadn’t suspected anything further by the man’s invitation. It seemed to be something that made sense. Being in The Governor’s proximity was, indeed, a reward. The closer you got to him, the better you’d be taken care of. The more assured your survival would be.

She took a steadying breath as she proceeded to the side gate of the walled garden, a little patio that she had known him to hide away in when he was tired of being anywhere else. Curiosity had never raised itself, not until the moment she peeked around the corner, grasping the bars of the iron gate.

The other side was lush and green, not even the community gardens looked quite like this. Vibrant leaves and vines popped against the faded brick wall, delicate chains of flowers. The spring had settled in weeks ago, and perhaps if the table off to one side had not already been set with food, she might be able to smell the blooms and blossoms on the wind. This small plot of Earth felt far too good for her. Her eyes raked over the table cloth, clean and pressed, and then over the back of his shirt - equally pristine.

That was another thing she was still getting used to. The crisp, clean way of everything in Woodbury. Her eyes traced the back of his hair, the fold of his collar. He was always sharp. Always groomed. Always shaven. Even seated with his back to her, his presence was striking. There was something boyish about him, even though his temples were dusting with grey, and as he finally turned when the gate creaked, his cheeks crinkled his eyes.

He stood from his chair, unfolding, really. He was always so much taller up close than he seemed from afar. Lean, spry. With a strength evident in the set of his shoulders, in the way he moved.

“Well, good evening, Nora,” he greeted, his voice a honeyed drawl. “You’re right on time.”

She mirrored his smile. It was always contagious, which was part of his insidious charm. It was practiced. Predatory. She had seen him be equally cruel and kind with that same smile on his face, the same crinkle of his eyes. If it weren’t for the slack of his shoulders as he reached for her hand, she might have mistaken this for some sort of formal meeting. But he grasped her two hands between his and shook them warmly, and her smile redoubled in surprise.

“I strive to be punctual, sir,” she replied. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“No need to be so proper,” he assured, wrestling his grin down over his teeth. Despite his insistence that the event was casual, she couldn’t help but notice the set of the table: Two plates piled generously with what seemed to be chicken and vegetables, and a plate of baked bread. A tall pitcher of iced tea was sweating into the tablecloth below, and on a low shelf only a few steps away was a decanter of amber liquid and two glasses.

“Please, have a seat,” he prompted, gesturing to the table she was appraising. He reached for the far chair, pulling it out slightly with a courtly grace. He made it feel natural, yet it stuck her as terribly out-of-place. Natural for him, out of place for the rest of the world. She looked away, unexpected bashfulness overtaking her, as she settled.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice a shade quieter in the insecurity of the moment. “This is lovely.”

“I hoped you’d like it.” He took his seat, something about his lean limbs folding back down into the lawn chair feeling funny. He even tugged at his pants before he sat, as if to preserve a nonexistent crease. He leaned forward, resting his wrists against the edge of the table.

“It’s a little sanctuary, really. I think it feels… well, a little more normal.”

He didn’t mean normal. Not really. He meant that it felt familiar. It felt like before. Nora, not even noticing that she was doing it, scanned left and then right, her eyes raking along the top of the brick wall. In the back of her mind, she expected to find something there.

Her eyes settled back on him and she nearly laughed as she realized that he looked like he was overdressed for a cookout — which wasn’t inaccurate. He was grinning at her, beaming proudly at what he had arranged. She didn’t know whether or not to ask if he had cooked the food himself, but the table he had set…

“This is the fanciest thing I think I’ve seen in years, Governor,” she confessed with a hard breath.

“It’s just a simple dinner, darlin’.” Despite his effort to be demure, the way his lips pressed down, trying to hide his grin, gave away the pleasure he drew from her comment.

She saw the way his eyes flicked away when he reached for the pitcher between them. Pouring them both a cascade of ice and rich, amber-colored tea, his eyes then lingered on her for a moment longer than seemed necessary. She reached for her glass to hide behind, murmuring her thanks for his politeness.

“It's important to me to keep a place to talk about something other than… reports and strategy meetings.” An exasperated huff betrayed genuine annoyance beneath a mocking tone. His shoulders relaxed, and the tilt of his head felt looser than before. He was eager to unwind, more eager than she anticipated. Almost tangible, the tension shedding off of him. He took up his silverware in hand and she followed his lead.

The birds continued their chirping, underscoring the aforementioned peace. No gunfire, no groans of biters, no cars, no screaming. Their forks clattered gently against the plates as they each reached for the first bite. Nora could tell by the way the meat cut that it wasn’t chicken after all.

“Is this rabbit?” She inquired after chewing thoughtfully.

His eyes darted up, something near surprise on his face. He didn’t answer right away.

“I believe it is,” he finally supplied, spearing a few of the vegetables on the end of his fork. After watching her plate and her face, he seemed anxious to ask:

“Is that alright?”

Nora rushed to swallow her gulp of tea, a cold tingle spreading down her chest as she did so.

“Of course, — I wouldn’t turn down anything so nicely prepared. It’s even got salt and pepper. This is a delicacy.”

He shook his head as he reached for his own glass.

“Well, I didn’t expect it to be such a treat,” he murmured over the rim.

“But I’m very glad it’s… to your liking.”

Her mind got caught in the pause of his words. He set the glass back down, cutting away at the meat on his plate.

He must have read something on her face, because when his eyes flicked back up to her, he made a vague gesture, his fork waving briefly in his hand.

“It’s not often nice company comes around. The least I can do is show a little appreciation.”

She nodded, a slow upward tilt of her head. Was this his intention? Inviting her for the purpose of being ‘nice company’?

“You seem to have people around you all the time,” she pointed out, arranging her food briefly. “I wouldn’t have thought you were hurting for company.”

He made a little noise in his throat, behind his bite of food. His gaze landed back on her when he was finished chewing.

“Company is plentiful,” he corrected. “Good company - that’s a different matter. It gets a touch lonely at the top.” He was smiling, but the disarming hint of melancholy in his words couldn’t be ignored.

“Lonely,” she repeated, not quite able to keep the incredulous tone out of her voice. She grabbed again for the sweating glass of iced tea, the ice ringing faintly against the sides. His expression betrayed nothing, waiting for her to make whatever point she was preparing.

“It doesn’t seem like you’ve built something lonely here, Governor.” She gestured vaguely out, towards the Woodbury beyond the walls, before taking her drink. She’d learned in the last four months to keep things concise, direct.

He shrugged, his eyes dropping back to his plate, observing a little too closely as he reached and split a piece of bread for himself.

“And I’m glad for that. I didn’t build it for me. I didn’t build it myself, it took a lotta hard work from a lot of hard working people to make this. To keep making it. People like you.”

Until that last addition, part of her was anticipating him to start on one of his monologues about Woodbury. He was clearly sincere about all of it, sincere in a way that hinted back at the melancholy. He smiled over at her, and she smiled back, a few seconds behind.

Nora chewed thoughtfully on her next bite, debating on whether or not to press on. Giving him time to lead.

He took the offered space, leaning further against the table, closer by a few inches. His gaze did not waver, performing some kind of trick that stopped her from looking away.

“Being in charge, it puts a wall between you and other folks. They see the title, but not the man.”

Her eyes swept down his body when his attention turned back to his food. She’d seen him in action, covered in splatters of blood, all bullets and blades. And here he was, the same man, cleaned up like… well, like he’d come home from work. She didn’t know if she ‘saw the man,’ as he put it, but she began to recognize just how vulnerable he was being - or trying to be - in this moment. Here, in the safety of his little walled garden, itself nestled in the safety of his little walled town. He’d built these walls himself - or, with the help of others, as he insisted, and now he was lamenting the lack of company on the inside.

“I can imagine that’s isolating,” she said neutrally, choosing her words carefully. It felt wrong to hedge, but anxiety began to creep in that she would push headfirst into something that she wasn’t being invited to.

“It is,” he confirmed, his gaze softening further. “That’s why it’s good to have… folks like you around. Folks who are… capable.” He paused, his eyes scanning her face, searching for something. “You’re resourceful.”

She gave him a wry grin, both satisfied with herself and challenging him to back up his assessment.

“Aren’t most of your people resourceful?”

He chuckled at her observation, briefly assessing his plate before continuing.

“Sure they are. But you’re… grounded. You don’t make a show of yourself. No pretenses about you.” His eyes flashed up, as if hoping to catch her reaction to his statement. She was careful not to give one, but she heard the faint question turning in his mind.

No pretenses, right?

“You’ve been a real asset to Woodbury, Nora. You know, you actually wake up in the morning and put in as much work as you say you’re going to. I’ve noticed.”

Her eyes dropped bashfully down to her plate more than once as she repeatedly tried to look him well in the eyes to meet the compliment. The praise was not unwelcome, but it was perhaps a little offputting that he seemed almost eager to pull the conversation back to her. How much he noticed her.

“I’m very glad to hear it,” Nora nodded, turning a piece of bread over in her hand. “I strive to make myself useful, sir.”

A new expression crossed his face, one that felt a little more pleading.

“You don’t need to call me that, Nora. I’m not on the clock right now.” He tried to make the joke to ease both of them, but she wasn’t so fast to go along with it.

“Is there something else I should call you, Governor?”

Without even a thought, she saw him surrender the idea, his fork and knife briefly angling outwards - a gesture of defeat.

“Well. No need to call me ‘sir,’” he murmured. “Not unless you want me to call you ‘ma’am'.”

The noise that growled in Nora’s mouth made him laugh again, effectively shelving the topic of his name. Only that inner circle knew it - Milton, Dixon, Martinez. People with pretense, apparently.

If he felt so isolated, so disconnected from something genuine, why didn’t he want people calling him by his name?

He’d called her “ma’am” of course, a handful of times. But it felt the same as when he called her “darlin’” or “sweetheart” or some other little name that popped out of his mouth. When she’d first met him, it seemed so much more annoying. She thought, naturally, that he was talking down to her. Such a stately southern gentleman - most of them did that. After such a short time, though, it proved to be natural. Normal. He didn’t mean anything by it. He’d use the names as terms of endearment just as fast as he’d use them as threats.

Such was his ability with words, something deeper than skill. There was something extremely clear in the way he spoke, even on the occasion that he was obscuring or putting on airs. He tended to be short, to-the-point. Said what he meant to say, and left very little room for doubt. He was convincing. Not just a matter of skill. People wanted him in charge.

They settled back into their plates for a few luxurious minutes, the sky tinting a darker shade of orange. She washed away the salt from the meal, relishing the sweet resplendence of the tea. A welcome change from lukewarm water.

When the remnants of her ice settled at the bottom of her empty glass, he indicated the decanter a few steps away, moving to rise from his seat.

“Would you like a drink of something stronger?”

Her eyes scanned for the cause of his trepidation, the reason he might have searched for her permission to get up. She didn’t find one.

“I - Uhm - Sure!”

As he turned away, an overwhelming relief surged over her, the immediate pressure of his gaze lifting. Suddenly self-conscious, suddenly overly aware that this was the longest time they had spent together, and there was nothing else to take attention off of her. At least he would have his drink - whiskey, if she had one guess.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he handed her the drink, the brief touch of his hand exposing the heat from his skin. Despite the cool air, cool glass, and cool shade, he was running hot.

Before he drank, he made a gesture with his glass, toasting. She followed suit, taking a smaller swig. The unfamiliar burn of the alcohol forced her face to briefly contort. Thankfully, he didn’t see it, taking up his fork and knife to finish the food on his plate.

“So, how long has it been, Nora?”

Her fingers paused, stopping in the middle of tearing off a bite of bread, and her eyes raised to search for clarity. When she didn’t answer right away, he did the same, a questioning look from both of them charging the space between. Unfamiliar.

A smile broke onto his face, his eyes crinkling, betraying some amount of embarrassment in him.

“I mean, since you’ve been in Woodbury. Four months, if I recall my math correctly.”

Ah. Nora’s head tilted back to nod, a short laugh to put him at ease for the confusion.

“And two weeks,” she supplied.

He seemed entertained, in some way, by her specificity. That she was keeping track.

“And how have you been liking it?”

She scraped up the last of the food from her plate, shaking her head softly.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

They smiled at each other. His, a warm and understanding expression. Hers, more coy. Neither of them acknowledging that she couldn’t have left without a struggle.

It seemed it was her turn to speak further. He waited quietly as she chewed, pushing her empty plate away by a few inches.

“I know how to survive, Governor,” she said, something serious dawning in her tone, in her face. Her hand wandered out for the glass of whiskey, turning it absently. “I know what survival looks like. Out there.” She gestured with her head, a short motion in the direction of the outside world.

“And sometimes survival looks like this. Here.”

Her hands indicated the present, the garden, the table. Woodbury. She raised the glass to her mouth, sucking a tiny sip between her lips, biting at her tongue to prevent the expression of distaste.

“Well,” he started, leaning forward over his own empty plate. His fingers laced together loosely in front of his chest. “I would hope that Woodbury is more than… survival.” He said the word like it was meaningless to him. Or, if not meaningless, something trivial. Incidental. Her eyes squinted by a few degrees.

“In what way?”

He sighed, running a hand against his prematurely greying hair. Her fingers itched to reach out and touch the silver strands at his temple. She had always seen him as so composed, so in control. Now she was seeing it, fraying at the very edges. He really was off the clock.

“You’ve seen what we’ve made here, Nora.” He gestured beyond the walls, and he began to lean back in his seat. His chest puffed, by a few degrees, and it gave away the kernel of defensiveness rising in him.

“You’ve been a part of making it what it is. We’re not making Woodbury just to survive. It’s… to flourish. To grow. To live for something more than… cause you have to.”

His eyes watched her carefully now, and she felt that shiver of self-consciousness run over her again. Fidgeting with the whiskey glass at her right hand. She straightened in her chair, and her eyes ran left and right along the walls of the garden.

“We don’t… have to. We have the option of another way out. You’ll forgive my saying so, Governor, but if survival is paramount, then…. joining Woodbury, building Woodbury, it’s just a means. You’ve built something strong and lasting and efficient. And you’ve managed to make it without cruelty.”

Her hand raised the glass to her lips, and their eyes appraised each other, scrutinizing.

“Without cruelty at the heart of it,” she amended. She drew and held a sip of whiskey in her mouth for a long moment, feeling it burn at her tongue, her cheeks, her lips.

He was running the side of his finger along his lips, shoulders skewed as he leaned against the back of the chair. The defensiveness had calmed quickly, settling back into a curiosity. The sense that a misunderstanding had been narrowly averted. She felt a warmth spread through her chest, hopefully heartburn, after his eyes softened. He was being open, vulnerable, in a way she hadn’t expected from the man who had built Woodbury from the ground up.

“And you want to be here, a part of it,” he provided, his voice easy, making her hear the sharpness with which she had spoken to him. Her eyes fell, a steadying breath swelling her chest. She set the glass down, worrying that the burning sensation was the whiskey working too quickly.

She paused long enough that the unspoken ‘no’ was already evident. But still, he waited. Searching. She searched back, watching his eyes for any sign that he was just waiting to spring on her. But she didn’t find any.

Nora leaned back in her chair, mirroring the posture he had assumed.

“I’m here because it’s the best choice. Not because it’s what I want.”

“So you don’t want to be here.”

“What I want doesn’t factor in.”

Both of their voices fell flat. A concise exchange, pragmatic. Efficient. It felt like business. Calculating his next words, his head tilted deeper over his shoulder.

“Then who is this ‘best choice’ for?”

“It’s the best choice for all of us,” she answered easily. Naturally. “I survive longer, I contribute to society, society takes care of us. Being part of Woodbury means being part of that system. Order. Purpose. I make it a point to make smart choices, to make myself useful, to be reliable, to be… well, to be good company. To be someone you want around.”

He nodded slowly. He reached for his empty glass again.

“So it’s not that you want to be here, and it’s not that you have to be here. Then, what, you’re… supposed to be here?”

Her eyes wandered away. The birds were still flitting back and forth across the wall. They must have been building a nest nearby.

“You’re building lives here, in Woodbury.” It wasn’t a question, but from the edge of her vision she saw him nod. “I’m not… here for that. But other people can be. You’re building something that people want to fight for, and…”

“You need to know you’re not the only one fighting." He punctuated his words with a restless tapping on the empty glass.

She looked back over towards him, both of them leaned back in their chairs. For just a moment, under the reddening sky, he looked tired.

“I need to know that when it comes time to fight, the people at my side are going to have something I know they’ll fight for.”

He considered her words for a long moment, turning his glass absently. His expression, unreadable. As the silence stretched between them, she began to assume that she had said something to displease him. Then, as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, the feeling evaporated. Perhaps it was the drink starting to settle into her, but she was just being honest with him. If her honesty wasn’t appreciated, then they would both know not to expect it again.

“People need things to fight for,” he finally agreed. It was his turn for him to appraise the brick walls of his garden, and she saw him imagining Woodbury on the other side. He had it always in his sights, in his mind’s eye. He was always thinking of it. Fighting for it.

“And you need the fight, don’t you?” His voice lowered to a hollow sound. Familiar and grounded.

She was struck still. As her gaze stayed on him, she felt it harden, felt her face relax deeper into nearly a scowl. His vulnerability had been infectious, and now she was here, feeling all too exposed. While he sat there in a clean cotton shirt, tucked into his untorn trousers, shaved and trimmed and groomed, sitting back in his garden with a finished glass of whiskey.

And she was only here at his invitation.

“I just need to survive,” she finally affirmed.

A softer sort of silence came between them, then. He sat back up in his chair and sighed, giving her a long look that began to seem more tender. His drink was gone, but she saw the tremor in his hand. He was nervous. The realization surprised her, shocked her out of the mood that had set over her. And, inexplicably, it thrilled her. The Governor, the commander of Woodbury. Nervous.

A smile twisted at the corner of his mouth as he stood, setting his glass on the table.

“I got you a little something,” he said at last, his voice dropped of all challenge. She straightened in her seat in anticipation, watching him return to the low shelf. For a brief moment, she thought he was going to refill her glass, replacing the few sips she had pulled from it. Then he grabbed for a small package - something square-ish loosely wrapped in brown paper, tied with twine.

They both agreed, independently, to leave the previous conversation behind them. She knew when to drop a subject, and he knew when her answers were final. The result was a wave of relief, a lightness that allowed them both to smile curiously as he handed over the package. He looked between her face and the package in her hands as he sat back down, once again leaning forward at the table.

Her fingers fumbled briefly with the twine and paper, undoing the careful knot he had tied, but thoughtfully unfolding the paper. As her eyes raised to evaluate his evaluation of her, she saw him grin, amused, at her refusal to tear the paper.

It was perfectly good paper, after all.

Her fingers brushed against cool, soft fabric and her eyes twinged at the bright honey-colored dye. Her lips, curled back in pleasant anticipation, began to feel heavy of their own accord as she set the package down in her lap, using both hands to reveal the full display.

Her stomach became a pit as she unraveled what he had given her, the loose fabric cascading further down as she lifted the shoulders of the dress. A light, soft, delicate thing. Unfrayed, unmarred. Clean.

When she lowered the curtain between them to meet his face, she watched him register her expression. Surprise flickered behind his eyes. His smile faltered.

“Uhm—“ She started. Ungraceful. Unprepared. She watched him steel himself, grasping for control on the inside.

“What’s this for?” Her voice turned downward, quiet and serious.

His chuckle betrayed nervousness, but he was clearly confident that he could navigate this for both of them.

“I believe it’s for wearing, Nora.” His voice curled around her name, his hand vaguely indicating the sundress in her hands. Her fingers fiddled with the shoulder straps. The side of her mouth twitched upwards, wishing the situation was funnier than it was.

“I mean - why?” She tasted the tone of her words, and she didn’t like them, but there they were. Honest. Flat.

He was still calm, shifting to one side in his chair, leaning heavier against one of the armrests.

“Just because,” he landed on. His eyes flicked down and away briefly as he said it, and they worked out, silently, between each other, that she saw right through his flimsy answer.

“Well, you’ve been here for four months, sweetheart. Safe in Woodbury. I thought you might feel at home here.”

He was still not quite landing on the honest answer, and she waited, expectantly, for him to get there. His grin, usually something soft and reassuring, deflated at the corners. He raised his hand, once again massaging the side of his finger against his lower lip.

“If I’ve done something to upset you, Nora, I really—“

“No,” she interrupted, feeling the flush burn up from her chest, over her neck, and onto her face. “I’m sorry - I’m not trying to sound ungrateful. It’s just…”

She looked down at the dress, at how it flashed brightly against her dark denim pants, how it felt so crisp and pure against the layers and layers of stains that had almost washed out. She felt mangy just looking at it.

“I don’t… I don’t wear dresses,” she finally said. “I haven’t, not since…” The words haunted silently in the space between them. ‘Before the world fell apart.' Before practicality and safety had become the only considerations.

He nodded, tilting his head over one shoulder. Like he was trying to hear her better. Asking her what she really meant by that. His smile faded completely, replaced by a look of… vulnerability? Disappointment?

“Right,” he said softly, scrubbing his hand against the tiny spikes of stubble on his jaw. “Of course. Silly of me.” He tried to laugh it off, but it sounded forced, strained. He looked at his empty glass and clearly wished he had refilled it.

“I’ve seen you wear the same… practical, sturdy clothes since you got here. Your same… survivor’s clothes.” There was no judgment in his voice, no tension in his eyes. Either he was working very hard to keep her from becoming defensive, or he had already given up on making it out of this interaction unscathed.

It was true that Nora had only accepted new clothes in Woodbury as a matter of convenience, necessity, and a little bit of opportunity. She had continued to dress as if she was still out there, the same clothes she had been wearing since all this had started. The same worn boots, scuffed and beaten. Patched and fraying jeans, sturdy enough to fall in. Tough enough to provide protection. She didn’t look so much like a stray dog - except, of course, sitting here next to him. Or standing too long next to any other Woodbury resident. She was able to shower these days, and that was good enough for her.

“I just thought…” he started, clipped. A smile, tight at the edges, flashed onto his face, but only for a second. “I wanted to give… For you to enjoy something nice. Something… normal. Something that might make you feel… at home.”

He dropped his hand from his face, straightening his shoulders against the back of the chair.

“Like a lady.”

I wanted.

Those words scratched against the inside of her skull, an insidious little parasite that had embedded itself into their meeting, only now making itself known. The severity of its infestation. It had been here all along, of course. Confusion and something that could have been hurt ran across her face. Equally could have been anger.

His earlier confidence crumbled to palpable unease. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed. Still, he did not seem to turn on her. There was something disappointed, though, and it hurt just as unintentionally as she had hurt him. He seemed to plead silently.

It wasn’t about the dress at all. It was about what it signified. What he wanted. Not just seeing her as a capable survivor, an asset, an ally. As company. As a woman. Perhaps even as his woman.

“But it’s not normal.” The words tumbled out of her mouth with a tight shake of her head. “Not for me.” His eyes tinted, tender, sadder. Was he trying to make her feel worse?

He stayed silent. She looked at him, really looked at him. Not just the title, but the man. She didn’t even know his name, yet he was abruptly open and bare. He had always painted himself as a protector, a leader, an architect. The Governor. Even though she knew there was a darkness under the surface of Woodbury, and beneath his title, she had still accepted the mask he chose to wear.

Now that mask was slipped away, and her own had come down with it.

“I appreciate the sentiment, really I do,” she promised, her voice tinged with more emotion than she intended, meeting his gaze directly. Her voice lowered even further, but now edged with a gentle steel. The whole world suddenly quiet and tense and expectant. “But I’m… not that type of woman anymore. This isn’t that type of world… anymore.” She shrugged her shoulders, indicating the whole broken world around them. Resigned.

She raked her eyes over his body, searching for any indication of what he was thinking. His hands had stopped shaking. When her eyes returned to his face, it was his turn to scan her rigid posture. He watched her, his expression shifting,. Disappointment was there, certainly. But also something else… understanding? Respect? He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to argue.

His eyes met hers, unwavering, and his eyebrows twitched upwards.

“I’m very sorry you feel that way.”

The words were simultaneously genuine and cold - she had no doubts that he was sorry, but was he sorry for how she felt or how she reacted? She wanted to scream at him. What do you want? The confusion, the pressure of sorting out his intentions… it was getting to her. Trying and failing to seem casual, she reached for her abandoned glass of whiskey and downed it.

The disgust on her face punctuated the pause, the burning taste of the drink somehow the most pleasant part of all of this. She couldn’t look at him, afraid of his reaction, afraid to even suppose what he was thinking of her.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, his voice laced with a nervous urgency.

She shook her head again, eyes narrowing as she fixated on the far wall of the garden. Her head swam, and that self-conscious prickle washed over her again. She looked like she was about to cry. Or scream. The symptoms of the feelings were just as frightening as the feelings themselves. It gripped her, pinning her down in the chair. Fear of the exposure, fear of the uncertainty. The hope that this world was determined to crush.

He wouldn’t even tell her his name, but he would do this. All of this. Because it’s what he wanted. The dinner, the garden, the conversation, the whiskey, the dress. Her fingers squeezed at the smooth fabric as the picture clicked into place. It wasn’t hospitality, it was… a gesture, a declaration. He was courting her.

He wanted all of this and he wanted her to want it, too.

She felt his eyes on her and remembered the vulnerability and the uncertainty and the hope she had read in them. She was unsure then, but she was sure now. He had laid himself bare in his own calculated way, and her reaction…

I didn’t mean to upset you, he had said.

She released the breath she had clamped down on and looked back at him. His eyes searched hers, expression unreadable, especially through the fog of liquor. He had waited for her to come out of her thoughts, and in the meantime he was trying to reaffirm the carefully constructed walls that he had invited her behind.

She just didn’t notice that’s what was happening.

Finally, he spoke. His voice rough, laced with a tenderness that nearly sickened her.

“For what it’s worth, darlin’,” he said slowly, picking each word. The term of endearment even sounded natural and intimate on his tongue. “The type of woman you are… seems just fine by me.”

His eyes held hers, unwavering. In them she saw a promise, a challenge, and something undeniably earnest.

“Just fine,” he repeated.

Something imperceptible in his face shifted. He made no expression, but she detected it, some subtle change. Although she had mostly observed him from a distance over the past months, she had spent plenty of time watching the way he moved, the way he commanded. The unwavering authority he projected. Firm but gentle, when he wanted to be. But she’d also noticed the subtle things, the weariness in his eyes sometimes, the sag of his shoulders when it all got heavy.

The weariness dissipated. His shoulders straightened.

Scanning for pretense the way she scanned for danger. And finding none of either.

As if to try to make it all go away faster, to wave it past, to absolve him, she nodded. A few quick bobs of her head, biting back any more words that would come out tasting sour and sharp and burning and hostile and hateful. Even if that felt normal, familiar — Even if, in a way, that was the most correct way she could do it. A stray dog after all, too far gone to be made civil again.

He leaned forward in his chair, placing one hand down at the edge of the table, touching it the way she imagined he wanted to touch her hand, her arm, her face. But that’s all it was - imagination.

Before he could speak further, she stood, the whiskey making her sway unexpectedly. She steadied herself against the table and turned away, gathering the dress in her fists.

“Thank you for dinner, sir.”

Her voice cracked at the end, but she managed. The gate screeched as she grabbed it, hurling it open but lingering just enough to stop it from slamming. Behind her, he made no moves, no sounds. She kept eyes on her own shadow, drawn long across the asphalt by the setting sun. A shaky breath escaped her, fingers angrily working into the give of the cotton cloth beneath her grasp. Blood rushed in her ears, nearly tasting it at the back of her throat as she gave a second thought to the matter of wanting, and what good it could do.

Still a stray dog at the end of the day.

[incorrect-hushhush-quotes]

Nora: [exists] Patch: So blessed. So moved. So grateful. Can’t believe this is my life. Never going to take it for granted. Always going to give back. Thank you.

[mommieswithmuscles]

Dom!Reader x Sub!Abby

Free Palestine, don't support Neil

No minors and No men

Collaboration with @tojisboy

CW: Breeding kink, brat behaviors, orgasm denial, double ended strap on, mention of injury/infection but not detailed, sprinkle of angst, unresolved ending because I like it the way it is

Title: Big Talk

"You can run your mouth on patrol, but we get home and suddenly you're quiet? What's wrong?" You kick your door shut, locking it behind you.

"Nothing's wrong." You don't meet Abby's eyes.

"Really? What happened to you saying how you could fuck me if you wanted to? You have me alone again, yet you haven't tried anything."

"Not in the mood." Abby backs off.

"I'm sorry baby. Should we go to the cafeteria? They have burritos again." You shrug.

"Babe?" Abby looks at you. "Talk to me."

"You're cocky and it's getting on my nerves. I try and prove myself and you push back, and I'm left sat like I'm incapable of being a top."

"I wouldn't say incapable. You are. You're just very submissive and I like fucking with you about it. If it bothers you, I can let you lead without the bratting." Abby pauses.

"You won't get the same fun feeling though. And that stupid smirk and grin and-" she sighs, digging her palms into her eye sockets.

"Let's go eat so we can sleep." You watch Abby fumble with the lock before making her way to the cafeteria.

-

"I got this for you." Abby hands you her bag, fresh from patrol and sweaty. You're in your medical tent helping Nora patch up Alice. "Open it when you get home. I'll be back late. Manny and I have a meeting with Isaac and I don't want you left waiting."

"Thank you." You press a kiss to her lips. Abby kisses you back.

-

You get home before Abby as was expected. You put her new loot in the chest at the end of her bunk before finding the gift she left you. It's a strap on harness that has an extra dildo for the wearer on the inside. There's a tube connected with the exterior dildo. It's a goddamn breeding strap.

You try it on, gasping at the way the insertable sits just right inside you. It's comfortable enough to move around in, but not so comfortable you don't get pleasure from it moving around.

You get dressed in Abby's cargo pants and bomber jacket to sleep in, unable to find your sweats.

-

"Sorry baby." Abby whispers as she climbs under the covers with you. "You look cozy."

"Mhm, am." You yawn, curling more into her chest, welcoming her warmth.

"Sleepy baby?" Her arms close you into her chest, lips pressed against your forehead. You nod. "Ok sweetheart. Get some rest."

-

"Anderson!" You snap, slapping your hand down on the table. Abby jolts, knees hitting the surface. She winces.

"What? Why? What did I do?" She's exhausted, but you don't care.

"You're not listening! You need to go see Nora or Mel before your infection turns septic!" You gesture to her poorly dressed forearm. "Your dad was a wonderful surgeon, but you're shit at medicine. Go."

"Fuck that. And fuck you, you don't need to be a bitch about something as stupid as this!" You're both shocked at what she says. "Baby I'm sorry-"

"Go," you growl. She leaves.

-

"What did she say?" You glare Abby down as she approaches the bed.

"That I should have come in sooner." You nod. Abby sits beside you. "I'm really sorry about what I said. You didn't deserve it."

"Damn fucking right I didn't. And you ignored me on top of that."

"I was in my head. I hate how dumb I am about medicine. I watched my dad and can do basic things, but I should know more. I should be capable of more. It wasn't ok I took that out on you."

"And it wasn't ok you took it out on yourself. Talk to me." Abby shakes her head.

"Not that easy."

"I know baby. Come here?" You pat your upper chest, she shrugs. "Abby?" You raise your eyebrow at her.

"You're too good for me." She slowly allows herself to relax into you. You rub your hand under her shirt, tracing her spine and muscles.

-

"How long have I been out?" Abby peels herself from your drool slick shirt, muttering a small "sorry" before sitting shoulder to shoulder with you.

"A few hours. You needed the rest." You wipe the drool from her face with a tender palm. She flinches at the contact before leaning into your touch.

"I'm really sorry baby."

"I know love." Abby turns to face you. "Can I make it up to you?"

"I'll let you redeem yourself. As long as you promise that'll never happen again."

"I promise." Abby bows her head, hands fiddling in her lap.

-

"You ready?" Your hips adorn the newly gifted strap.

"Please?" Abby is sprawled on her back, legs open and shining with slick where you left her.

"Ok baby. You sure?" You make sure Abby has the chance to opt out before starting.

"I'm sure. Please." Abby's eyes glisten with want.

You're slow with her, taking your time before pressing in. She hisses in pain so you still, feeling the way she flutters around you. When she gives the go ahead, you press until you're fully in, hips resting against hers as she pants in your ear and neck.

"Feel good?"

"Mhm!" Abby gasps as you start rocking your hips slow, picking up the pace as her body adjusts.

You use her sounds and the way she grabs at your ass, boobs, and back for leverage to know if you're doing what she likes.

"Right there?" and "This ok? You like that?" whispered into Abby's ears. She always hums, pleading, mouth gasping and eyes fluttering as she answers. "Don't touch yourself. If you try, you don't get to cum."

It's not long before your pleasure takes the reigns. "I'm close, are you ready?" You never last as long as she does. Abby's legs quiver when you bottom out for a final time. You fumble around with the tube, having completely forgotten to undo the cork. She giggles into her free hand as you stare down at her. "Haha, so funny," you roll your eyes with a smile. "Ok, are you ready this time?"

"Always ready, my love." Abby's eyes are gentle as you lean down to kiss her. You release into her and filled her. You gasp as she moans against your lips. You pull out and rest on her chest. There's cum trailed from her hole, up her clit, and what remained in the strap is now pooling on the plane of fat sat above her pelvic bone.

"Look at that pretty girl, you're all messy now." You kiss her forehead, brushing the messy stray hairs from the front of her eyes.

"You really think so?" Abby's breath hitches when she plays with some of the cum drooling down her clit.

"What did I say?" You slap her hand. She flinches.

"But I held myself for you to cum? I thought it was fine now!"

"Changed my mind." You pull the harness off, whimpering at the way the insertable pops out.

[lime-sketches114]

Alright here are some crossover ship names for characters I thought would be cool. This is for my RWBY X Last Pegasus stuff so yeah. I'll label things as such bc most of them are adults haha. I do have platonic/friendly ships because of cute interactions I've thought up. (I'll be sure to update as needed)

Also feel free to ask about them or ask about a ship because I would LOVE to talk about them (Especially Qrow, Ironwood, and Tyrian and whatever else bc I like em)

Romantic (canon/switchable/crushes)

Platonic (mostly with the younger ones or are mostly friends)

Crack ship (bc it was a cool thing/idea)

In RWBY AUs they're mostly older unless changed to canon ages in original story.

★★★★★★★

Katerina Wolfe (Dove Faunus so to speak) (Bi) (21-22) (ADHD, Anxiety)

Black Angel/Death Angel (Qrow)

Peaceful Time (Ozpin)

Kind Heart (Ironwood)

White Cannon (Oobleck)

Downy Magic (Glynda)

Poisonous Quill (Tyrian)

Worthiness (Watts)

Lucky Recovery (Clover)

Clipped Wings (Raven)

Silver wing (Ruby)

Holy Knights (Jaune)

Flash Wolfe (Dragon Faunus) (Bi) (21-22) (Is Twin of Kat) (ADHD, HF Autism, Sass)

Chaos Theory (Qrow)

Russian/Atlesian Roulette (Ironwood)

Maleficent (Glynda)

Domination (Watts)

Lucky Shot (Clover)

Grunge Match (Raven)

Dry Ice/Dragon's breath (Winter)

Robbin Hoards (Robyn)

Little Reds (Ruby)

Alexandra "Ally" Wolfe (Siren Faunus) (Straight) (27-28) (PTSD)

Ironwhip (Ironwood)

Straight and Narrow (Glynda)

Mad Siren (Watts)

Icy Fury (Winter)

Motherly instinct (Weiss)

Terresa "Terri" Wolfe (Golden Eagle Faunus) (Pan) (25-26) (ADHD)

Magic Shield (Glynda)

Trust Fall (Clover)

Golden Sword/Feather (Raven)

White Knight (Winter)

Aegis (Ironwood)

Brave Burn (Yang)

Hammer time (Nora)

Avalina "Ava" Wolfe (Fox Faunus) (Unknown/Asexual) (17-18) (HF Autism, Sensory Issues)

Glyph Gears (Ozpin)

Nature walk (Oscar)

Firefox (Oobleck)

Sorcery (Glynda)

Flower patch (Clover)

Magic dual (Weiss)

Red curls (Penny)

Meditation (Ren)

Gavin Pravus Wolfe (Beast Faunus) (Pansexual) (24-25) (PTSD)

Brazen (Ironwood)

Law and order (Glynda)

Overlucky (Clover)

Omen (Raven)

White Beast (Winter)

Trust (Robyn)

MMA (Ren)

[asmallermorehonestsoul]

Justice League x RWBY: Super Heroes and Huntsmen, Part One Review

The Justice League is facing off against a new horror: adolescence! Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Cyborg, Green Lantern and Vixen are surprised to find that not only have they materialized on a strange world called Remnant, but they’ve also been transformed into teenagers. Meanwhile, the heroes of Remnant – Ruby, Weiss, Blake and Yang – find their world has been mysteriously altered. Can the combined forces of the Justice League and Team RWBY return Remnant to normal before a superpowered Grimm destroys everything they know?

I did know that it wasn’t really Remnant either, but the movie tipped that hand pretty early. Interesting that they are in their Beacon arc outfits, while Weiss and Blake are in their Mistral arc locations (Yang’s not at Patch, but I guess Vale/Beacon is closer to Home than Ruby was in that arc), and this seems to take place during the Atlas arc. I suppose it was for the same reason as making the JL teens, trying to throw them off. Blake being in Menagerie on pretense of simply visiting her parents for break was a bit bittersweet considering the circumstances of their estrangement and reunion in canon. It really breaks my heart thinking of her life before Beacon. And of course I caught that Yang was her choice to call, I love the Bees.

 If memory serves, each of the girls meet the same DC Trinity member they met first in the original crossover comics, which is a fun nod. Clark was able to get Yang and Ruby’s help far quicker than Diana and Bruce with Blake and Weiss though, ha. I’m assuming most heiresses and socialites Bruce interacted with on Earth weren’t trained by their military older sisters and carrying swords! And shoutout to the piano guy, that made me laugh.

And it was fun seeing JN_R and Flash/Barry, Cyborg, Vixen, and Green Lantern/Jessica joining the mix. Both the Justice League and the Remnant kids have experience fighting monsters, evil villains, and their own traumas. It was pretty enjoyable seeing the different dynamics unfold as the teams got to know each other. Ruby and Superman talking about leadership and feeling the burden of trying to protect those they love… oh, volume 9 still hurts, but their friendship was nice! And then Diana talking with Blake and Yang about being a warrior… well, the other Leaguers have experienced loss, but I guess it is true that unlike Diana and the Remnant gang, they weren’t raised in that sort of culture where fighting is a part of it, and you might be building a sniper rifle/scythe combo at 13. And Jaune and Jessica becoming trauma buddies was sweet, though Jaune your Semblance unlocking was because Weiss was dying not “a friend believed in you”. And I wonder if Jessica’s backstory changed, because she mentioned feeling different from her friends and not wanting them to go through what she did, but also alluding to heavy loss. I did like her sympathizing with Jaune and her line of “Time is only one part of grief”. In the comics though, her backstory was her friends getting murdered after accidentally stumbling on criminals dumping a body in the woods, and Jess herself only barely escaping. Still, again I did like the friendship! And ok, that Pyrrha illusion really hurt, like, ow!

And on dynamics/romance, Blake and Ren being jealous was pretty funny. Well, Blake was able to brush past Yang admiring Diana’s strength pretty easily, and bonded with her, but it was a little less smooth for Ren seeing Cyborg trying to flirt with Nora. Ren, buddy, don’t worry, she’s had feelings for you for a long time. But he’s in his Atlas arc grumpy repression mode, so he won’t open up about that right now, oh Ren. Also, I love how Blake says she and Yang didn’t get along at first and Yang said something similar in their confession scene in the show. They are so goofy because it only took one terribly awkward conversation for Blake to pick Yang as her partner and smile at her calling the knight chess piece a ‘cute little pony’. You are not enemies to lovers girls! And the little moment of trust and holding hands through the ship windshield was cute. 

The implied Weiss/Bruce/Diana love triangle was kinda odd though, but I guess Weiss and teen!Bruce liked each other in the original crossover comics too? They certainly have similarities, but Weiss, if you’re going to be the token straight, could you at least pick emotionally available men? And I’ve never been a fan of WonderBat (or any of the Trinity with each other in all honesty, but for WonderBat blame Bruce Timm, iykyk). But it wasn’t too overt, so oh well.

And finally, the villain. I know Kilg%re from a Wally West Flash story where he possessed Linda Park while pretending to be an Irish bard named Seamus O’ Relkig, so clearly he was never one of the more normal villains. I also know his partner is Watts, , but yeah. The climactic battle was pretty neat, and Jessica got her chance to shine in stopping him and getting them all home.

All in all, pretty fun as a fan of both franchises. I liked the dynamics, and definitely the creepy atmosphere when things would start glitching. Looking forward to Part Two!

[xxcrazygoodxx]

SET MY SOUL ON FIRE

A RWBY Ren x Nora Android AU One Shot --- 2k

-------------------------------

As Team RWBY chase after the mad scientist Salem, Team JNPR hold back the never ending swarm of Grimm.

-------------------------------

The Grimm were relentless. Team RWBY had separated from JNPR a while ago, having chased after Salem when she turned back to her semi-buried castle, the walls rusted and haphazardly welded back together over the years. Bits of the jagged palace peeked out from the soil as though it was the bones of a creature long dead. Ren found himself to be tried, a rare feat in itself, his cyber body allowing him to push past normal human exhaustion. He took heaving breaths, arms hanging low below his body in his crouching position, eyes trailing after one of the scorpion mechs. The red setting sun made the metallic shine of the Grimm look almost as though it was painted with blood.

Ren and the mech circled each other. Somewhere behind the two of them was Jaune, his nanobots working quickly to patch up Pyrrha who had taken a hit to the head and was currently unable to stand. Ren and Nora had put themselves on the defense while the other two recovered. Off in the distance Ren could hear Nora's hammer sounding off, the occasional sound of metal being crushed could be heard.

Ren took in a deep breath, seeming to hold it and charged the scorpion Grimm. The metal monster screeched in reply and skittered forward as well, the two clashed against each other, steel striking steel ringing through the air.

Swing. Swing. Dodge.

Ren let his mind go numb, going through the moves mechanically. He felt muscle memory take over, his exhaustion being pushed to the furthest point in his mind. He only needed to focus on one thing.

Block. Swing. Blast.

The Grimm clanged its metal jaws together, simulating a mouth ready to feed. If Ren felt any sympathy for the thing, being so closely related to him, it was lost a long time ago. He blocked another attack, the scorpion’s pincers encircling his weapon and arm. With his free hand, he lifted his second gun and shot the metal beast between the eyes. Dead.

There were several of these metal bodies laying around them. JNPR and RWBY killed most of them trying to get near the damn castle in the first place, then after Pyrrha went down and team RWBY followed the mad scientist inside, he and Nora took out the next wave. And the next. But these beasts looked endless. Ren wouldn’t be surprised if Salem had a factory mass producing her Grimm bots. Would explain how they seemed to be in every part of the world, terrorizing people who were already barely surviving.

Ren turned around and shot another scorpion rapidly, dropping it as it reached his feet. Ren supposed he would be dead if he hadn’t met Nora. Hell, before Nora he would have preferred to have died. There’s something wrong about being not completely human. Not in a Yang sort of way. Yang still had her soul, even if her limbs were of metal. Ren was born without a soul, born into an inhuman body. Maybe that's why he stuck around Nora. Because she made him feel.

Ren rolled his shoulders. The aching feeling in his shoulders also made him feel more human he supposed. More alive. He let out a slow breath before dashing forward to meet the next opponent, stinger crashing against blade. Ren let himself quickly look at the other two members of JNPR.

Pyrrha was still down and Jaune was looking increasingly tired. The nanobots paired with the worry probably didn’t help. Ren jumped back to dodge an attack, his eye’s ripping away from the scene. They’ll be fine. Pyrrha has always been hardy and Jaune has more to him than most people see.

Ren prepared to jump up to the Grimm’s back when he heard a cry. One full of pain. He instantly turned around, looking for the source. There, off in the distance, was Nora, one of her arms hung uselessly at her side, hammer dragging in the dirt.

It felt as if someone dumped a cold bucket of water over his head. A feeling that Ren hadn’t felt in a long time came rushing back in full force. It was fear. Ignoring the mech he was already fighting, Ren bent down, building up as much energy as he could before dashing forward.

“Nora!” He screamed. The redhead turned at the sound of her name. She looked so tired. One eye was completely closed, blood pouring down from a cut on her forehead. Ren’s own eyes went wide as he watched a scorpion rise up from behind her, its stinger raised for a strike. He reached out.

“No!” He couldn’t stop it. He could only watch as Nora smiled at him, peacefully and full of love, before the Grimm’s tail struck down, going through her chest.

Ren didn’t say anything, he couldn’t. All he could do was just scream. The stinger removed itself out of Nora’s chest with a sickening, wet sound. She staggered, hammer now forgotten in the dust as she reached a shaky hand up to touch the hole.

Ren caught her before she fell. He continued to scream as he shot the Grimm over and over. Even after it fell and was nothing more than an empty husk of blasted metal. He only stopped when all he could hear was the click of an empty barrel and a soft noise.

“Ren?”

He quickly discarded his gun, looking down at Nora, holding her up as she laid in his arms. It was also at this moment that Ren realized his screams had turned into ugly sobs. Nora smiled again, her teeth turning pink from blood, and raised a shaking bloody hand to his face. Ren didn’t hesitate to lean into the touch, closing his eyes.

“I got blood on your face.” Nora said weakly and Ren chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s ok. It’s alright.”

Nora coughed, choking slightly on her blood while Ren sniffed, brushing her hair out of her face.

“You need to leave me.”

“No.” Ren said sternly, tightening his hold on her and shook his head stiffly.

“You have to. They’re coming.”

Sure enough, when Ren looked up, more Grimm had gathered and were approaching them. Ren instantly grabbed his gun, turning to the first Grimm and pulled the trigger. Right, it was empty. Ren cursed and tossed the weapon away, wrapping his arms around Nora once more.

“I’ll take you to Jaune, he’ll heal you.”

“No,” Nora said softly, patting Ren’s cheek lightly. “You- you have to leave me if you want to make it through the Grimm.”

“I’m not doing it.” Ren growled, ducking his head. He took in a deep breath before looking back up, “I can’t leave you. I can never leave you.”

The Grimm were a lot closer now. Jaune seemed to have noticed the gathering and started to yell. The blonde stood up to run over to the two of them but was stopped as a Grimm blocked his path, diving towards Pyrrha who was still resting on the ground. Jaune didn’t hesitate to block the attack with his shield, but that meant he was no longer an option.

“Shit.” Ren whispered, watching as some of the Grimm turned towards Jaune and Pyrrha. Nora’s breaths were getting shallower and she was no longer able to hold up her hand to Ren’s face, letting her hand fall away to his chest, just so she could feel his synthetic heart beat.

Ren watched as Nora curled in closer, tears now rolling down her face as she buried her face into his chest.

“You’re not going to leave, are you?” She whispered and Ren could hear the pain in her voice. Ren smiled sadly, bending down to place his forehead against her head.

“Never. You’re my soul. If you die, so do I.”

Then he kissed her. It was gentle, tasting of copper and salt, feeling of love and sorrow. And Ren suddenly had a hatred for the world. He should have had years of this. Years of holding Nora in his arms, listening to her ramble about all the beautiful things in the world, even the ones he himself couldn’t see. He should have had years of losing to Nora while they trained because she was strong and sometimes forgot to hold back. Years of her apologizing and quickly caring for his bruises that would be gone in the morning anyways. He wanted to be old, holding Nora’s hand in his as they watched the sunrise over a new world without Grimm because they had beaten Salem when they were younger. But they haven’t, have they? Salem was still alive, somewhere in the castle. This will be the last time he gets to hold Nora, never to hear her breath or feel the warmth radiating off of her skin ever again.

Ren pulled away, cupping Nora’s face, as though he could shield her from the oncoming Grimm. If there was a path that weaved between the Grimm to open air, it has now long since been closed.

“I love you.” Nora said, smiling. “I never said it enough.”

“I heard you anyways.” Ren replied, his own tears now hitting Nora’s face. She laughed weakly, her hand tightened on Ren’s shirt.

“We have to give them more time.” She said, letting go of Ren to grab her hammer she had dropped. She dragged it over, Ren watching her as she did, and placed it in his waiting hand. “Destroy them all.”

Ren knew exactly what she meant. Ren opened the panel of the hammer head, where the battery was securely placed in between the wires. When he first found out about the fusion battery Nora had put into the hammer, he wanted to shake some sense into her then throw the battery as far as possible.

Now he was grateful to have the damned thing.

Ren reached in, pulling the battery out. It was hot to the touch, to the point it was burning, but Ren just ignored it. He clenched it tightly, looking down at Nora once more. She was looking at the battery in her hands. Slowly, she reached out, wrapping her hands around his, her face barely twitched from the heat before turning back to him.

“Together?” She asked. The Grimm were here now. There was no way out but Ren felt a sense of calm, like if there was any way to end, then this was it.

“Always.”

They sealed it with a kiss, their hands wrapped in a pulsing battery, one heart. As their hands closed around the heart, shattering the glass, it exploded. Brilliant blue light blasted into the sky, making the dark desert look as if angels themselves had entered the world to grace them all with their presence.

The Grimm that were the closest were instantly incinerated, not even dust was left behind. As the blast continued out, more and more Grimm were destroyed, melting from the heat of it. Jaune, having noticed the oncoming blast, quickly pushed the Grimm he was fighting away, covering Pyrrha with his body.

He hoped that the nanobots would be enough of a shield to protect them. The scorpion mech shrieked, twisting in the heat before falling over. Jaune panted as the air grew hotter but he didn’t dare move and as quickly as it came, the intense blue heat disappeared.

Jaune paused, unsure if they had actually survived and pulled away from Pyrrha. The rebel leader groaned, holding her head, the two of them looking at each other. The nanobots had done their job in both healing Pyrrha and protecting them from the blast. Jaune held a hand down for her to grab, and helped her stand when she accepted. The two of them stood there, hands still clasped together and looked around them.

It was beautiful. The dry cracked sands around them had turned into black glass, the edges reached out towards the pair, but never quite reaching them. Pyrrha squeezed Jaune's hand before taking a step forward, the other following her in step. The ground beneath them went from the dull shuffle of dirt to the soft clink of glass. They were silent as they continued on, walking towards the center, to where their friends were last.

At the center of the blast was a mound of that black glass, the edges shimmering red as the last rays of the sun hit it. It looked like two figures huddled together, just holding each other. It was hard to see where one started and where one ended.

It wasn’t until Jaune’s vision went blurry that he realized that he had been crying. Pyrrha reached out, touching the glass before letting go of Jaune’s hand to slowly crouch down next to the glass figures, placing her head against the still warm glass. Her shoulders shook and Jaune felt his own breath hitch before he clasped down next to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and the other around the glass.

Team JNPR was over. Everything laid on Team RWBY's shoulders now.

-------------------------------

END